Second Generation
by FamousSeaGreenEyes
Summary: POST-MJ. Haunted by nightmares of his mother's sudden suicide, Fin Odair lives in the Capitol working as an actor. But Fin soon finds himself wanted by the government to be the face of their familiar solution to their latest problem; immigration.
1. One

**Title: **Second Generation**  
Rating: **T (violence and references)**  
Full Summary: **Haunted by nightmares of his mother's sudden suicide, Finnick Odair Jr. (Fin) now lives in the Capitol earning his living as an actor. Oblivious to the world around him, Fin is surprised to find his new PA a second generation immigrant from Tribe 3. However, Britney – with her odd accent and love for tea – isn't everything she appears to be and Fin soon finds himself being dragged into the world of politics. Panem is now being seen as a safe haven to the rest of the world – something the government cannot deal with. They want Fin to be the face of their terrifying yet familiar solution to their latest problem; immigration.

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**PART 1**

**THE PUPPET**

1

The sun glints off the calm sea. From my position on the beach I can see all the way across to the horizon, a semicircle of sun casts our shadows back behind us. I grasp my mother's hand so tightly I can feel the bump of the scar she got after slicing her hand open on a fish hook when I was three. I remember that day all too well, how Nurse Everdeen had ushered me out of the room as blood oozed from the cut, how my stomach churned as I watched the red river travel down her arm. It was an accident, Nurse Everdeen said. It probably had been too. Even from an early age I knew my mother sometimes lost her way with things.

Now we both stand at the sea's edge, watching as the clear blue waters reach out towards us and grace our toes before retreating to the sea. I giggle, unsure why. The sea has always made me happy. My mother said that it was in my blood. Nobody could live at District 4 without loving the sea and all its creatures. That was the first time my mother had voiced her doubts over the new family down the road. They'd never seen the sea before – Jorge and Dana – and couldn't seem to get the hang of fishing.

"Can you see past the sea, Fin?" my mother asks, loosening her grip on my hand ever so slightly. I look to where she tells me to, squinting my eyes against the blare of evening sun. I shake my head; there's nothing past the sea but the sun from where I'm stood. "That's where your father is," she tells me.

I look up at her, watching as her wistful features take on the mourning expression they always do when she mentions my father. "Do you think I'll see him?" she says, taking a step forward so the next wave flows over her bare feet, "If I carry on walking?"

She sounds like she always does when she goes away from me. I bury my head in her hip – the farthest up I can reach – and breathe in her warm smell from the cloth dress she wears. It's my way of silently communicating to her. _Don't go, Mother, stay with me._

She takes another step forward. My arm is shorter than hers and she pulls me with her until I'm ankle deep in the ocean.

"I'll see you soon, Fin," she tells me, brushing her hand through my bronze hair. She always likes to do that. She says my hair reminds her of my father.

I don't speak as she lets go of my hand, save for a whimper. I remember what Nurse Everdeen told me; to leave her until she comes back to me. Only this time it's not just her mind that is leaving.

Silently, I watch as she walks slowly away. First her ankles are submerged, then her calves. When the water gets to her waist, she hesitates. I wait to see if she will turn around. She doesn't, and I'm aware of hot tears falling thick and fast down my face. And then she disappears fully under the water, leaving me alone on the beach outside our home.

She doesn't resurface.

Gasping, I awake from the dream. Dream. I wouldn't use that word at all. Last time I checked dreams were supposed to be happy and random thoughts not repressed memories that now haunt me every night.

Rolling over onto my back, I rub a hand over my face in an attempt to rub sleep from my eyes. I've been crying again, in my sleep. Pathetic. This is why I don't bring girls home. I flick the television on as I pass on my way to the bathroom. The Capitol is already buzzing with activity even at seven in the morning. Far below me, outside my apartment windows which dominate all of one side, I can see cars already backed up on the main streets, tiny beetles of florescent oranges and greens.

It had taken me a long time to get used to my apartment in the city after coming from my house in District 4. Part of me still expects to wake and be greeted by the sound of swooshing waves – not the horns and other noises found in this bizarre city. If I look out of my window and only concentrate on the sky, I can imagine that far below me is the beach that makes up for my back garden back home.

But I can't call it mine anymore. I haven't lived there in three years; it's Nurse Everdeen's now.

The news is already broadcasting. Hunter Jemwire's rough voice carries through the apartment and into the bathroom as I scrub at my teeth.

"_Reports are just coming in from District 4's correspondent. More Tribe's people are attempting to breach the borders of Panem. The news is that shortly before midnight last night, more boats arrived carrying the distressed people onto the shores of District 4. Anya Lenton has the details."_

At the mention of my home District's name, I had shot out of the bathroom and now stand in front of the wide screen as Anya comes into view. She wears a blue suit as usual, the color of the District. She's on the beach and my breath catches in my throat as I realize she's near my mother's house, by the same spot where she had left me to walk out into the sea. The beach behind her is not peacefully empty as it usually is though. I can make out Guardians – the newer and 'kinder' word for Peacekeepers – in their District blue uniforms, holding onto the arms of people who have no doubt come from one of the Tribes. Their skin is dark and they wear nothing but colorful cloths tied around their waists.

Well, that's unusual. Normally it's women and children who arrive here, having been sent by desperate men unable to provide for their families. Maybe word finally got out that there is no help for them here and the men have come to plead for it.

Sighing, I turn the television off before Anya even begins to speak. I'm tired of hearing about the immigration situation. As far as I see it, President Paylor has it coming. She is the one who ordered her people to go out and select people from the different Tribes to make up for the numbers lost during the Revolutionary War. She can't honestly expect the remaining Tribe's people to get on with their poverty-riddled lives after telling them of the better world of Panem. Most of the Tribes don't even use the same words as us, leaving them to try and decipher for themselves what our government had been telling them. No doubt they made Panem out to be a Heaven on Earth.

I think about Jorge and Dana – the couple in District 4 who were recruited from Tribe 4. When I was younger, I used to listen to them tell me stories using both my words and their own Tribe's – they were still learning the words of Panem. Even after they had learned most of Panem's words, they still kept that unique accent. I had listened to them talk of their fields, how they thought of themselves as experts when it came to bread and pastries. After they had settled in to the District, they opened a bakery and I would sit with them at their shop after school in the years that followed my mother's death.

They never told me why there was no sea in Tribe 4. Whenever I asked, they turned away or changed the subject. Most of the time they distracted me with their bread with chocolate bits in.

My mouth waters now, just thinking about their food. The memory reminds me of home and I make a mental note to check back there soon. I need to check on Nurse Everdeen, ever since my mother died she has become my main parent. She's always been there for me; a second parent when my mother was alive and now the only family I have left.

Once I'm ready, I leave my apartment and head for the studio, stopping by a stall on my way. The stall is run by Juppy Kit, originally a resident from District 7. He moved here round about the same time as me to try life in the Capitol. Still, he chose the Districts way of selling newspapers on a stall rather than owning a concrete shop. The wooden carriage reminds me of the fish stalls back home in the Market Square.

"Morning, Fin," he greets, nodding at me, "Early start then?"

"Not as early as you," I reply, and nod to the half-empty cart. "I take it business is doing well then?"

Juppy pulls a face, picks up the nearest newspaper and points to the headline with a stumpy finger. I see on the colored print what I had seen on the news this morning; Tribe's people struggling in the hands of District 4 Guardians as they leave their boats.

"Everybody's interested," Juppy huffs, "I can't see the big deal really. What harm can it do to let a few more in?"

"It's more to feed," I reply, using a reason I find while scanning the text briefly.

"Of course!" Juppy slaps his forehead with a hairy hand as if the idea has just come to him. "Now that they're feeding all the Districts properly then of course they'll have a lot less food to spare." I can tell he is being sarcastic and roll my eyes at him. Still, it can't be help. He suffered life before and during the War. Who am I to judge?

He turns away from me, muttering to himself angrily as he serves another customer. This customer looks over to me, hair tied up in a polka-dot ribbon. You can tell just by looking at her that she is from District 8. It's weird how even I – somebody who was born after the war and after the walls around the Districts were taken down – can see the difference in the people.

I look at Juppy with his fading grey hair and wrinkled face. He's been around for a long time; probably longer than Nurse Everdeen. Despite being friends with him since I moved here I'd never really questioned him about life before or during the Revolutionary War. It is a topic that was out-of-bounds whilst I was growing up.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a few coins and hand them to Juppy for the newspaper. As usual, he refuses.

"Take it, Fin," he says. "I don't need money from a friend." I wonder if this was what the attitude was like before the war; people helping people out whenever they could afford it. Well, there's no need for that now.

"Take it, Juppy," I say, slamming the coins hard onto the table so they won't roll off. "I don't steal from a friend." I grin, "Besides, I probably owe you a lot more than this after what you've done for me for the last three years."

"A free newspaper every day isn't much," Juppy says gruffly, waving a hand to dismiss the matter. It means a lot to him; this simple act. It's like he's still living in the pre-revolution era.

"I was eighteen when I came here," I say. "You took me under you wing in a way and besides," I continue so as not to let the conversation get too deep, "I don't need favors now I'm successful." I grin as he gives me a playful punch to the arm.

"Get out of here, you cheek," he says. I laugh and continue on my way to work.

The Television Building is a skyscraper that stretches high above the rest of the Capitol. It's in the centre of the city; from afar you can see it as a tall building surrounded by mini buildings. In reality the 'mini' buildings are still quite tall by themselves. The Television Building is just a lot bigger. It really shows everybody the Capitol's priorities; broadcasting first, hospitals second.

As soon as I enter the building, Plutarch rushes to greet me.

"There he is! There's the star!" he gushes. "Now come on, get a move on, we've got costumes to change and scenes to shoot!"

I'm used to this; being dragged around as soon as I arrive. Plutarch has been passionate about his work since he got his job twenty years ago and the passion hasn't faded. I admire him for that.

"I've got a surprise for you, Fin," he says excitedly as we stop outside my dressing room door. I wait for him to say something more but he just pushes open the door and extends his arms as if he is proudly presenting something.

Inside my room is a small young woman with blonde hair in ringlets down to her shoulders. Her skin is pale and her eyes are wide and blue as though she has a permanently startled expression.

"Meet your new PA," Plutarch announces, "Britney McCormus."


	2. Two

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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2

"I'll leave you two alone to get acquainted," Plutarch says in parting. I'm aware of the door closing behind me but I'm still in shock at meeting Britney to fully register the fact we are alone now.

"Would you like me to get you anything?" she asks, taking a single strand of hair – almost transparent in the dressing room light – and wrapping it around her finger. She looks nervous and I suppose I'm not helping at all, just standing there gawking at her.

"Humphrey…?" is all I can get out. Britney frowns at me and I feel my face burn slightly having realized how much of a fool I'm making of myself in front of a girl.

"He left," Britney answers me, no doubt thinking I may be an idiot. I certainly sound like one, having just been introduced to her and then calling her by my old PA's name. "Plutarch told me…" she hesitates a moment before explaining, "He's gone to work on an important project in District 11."

I'm quite sad to see Humphrey go. He was an odd man, born and raised in the Capitol with the tendency to color his eyebrows pink. Still, he was good company. And a great story-teller too though he sometimes failed to realize that I am the next generation born after the war and so everything he told me about life during the pre-revolution I'd covered in school.

I shuffle further into the room, hoping that by doing so I'd somehow become less socially awkward. Britney smiles at me, I think it might be a sympathetic smile but my mind tells me to stop being paranoid. I'm not used to meeting new people. I've grown up with only my mother and Nurse Everdeen for company. The children at school tended to keep away from me. I think the fact that both my parents were in the Hunger Games combined with the facts that my father had died in the Revolutionary War and my mother was a little bit crazy tended to put people off.

"I'm sorry," I blurt. "It's too early in the morning to think. How are you, Britney? Is this your first job in television?" And just like that I relax. Being raised by two women may have been frustrating at times but they made sure they taught me manners.

Britney, seeming surprised by my sudden turn-around, blinks and says, "Erm, yes it is actually. I'm a bit nervous to be honest."

"Don't worry about it," I tell her. "You'll settle in just fine. Have you seen my prep team?"

Britney nods and takes me through my day just like Humphrey used to. I don't know why he suddenly left without saying goodbye to me; I don't ask. Capitol people are strange and they do strange things. Sometimes it's best to just leave them be.

Plutarch is with me during the entire day. I like that about him. Being the Head of Communications, he could easily sit in his office all day and do nothing yet here is, day in and day out, on set with everybody else. Sometimes he jokes it's to keep an eye on me, other times I think he is serious.

Britney isn't there by the time I get back to my dressing room mid-afternoon. No doubt she will keep herself scarce while my prep team get me out of this ridiculous bird costume. Apparently they were the largest birds to lay eggs, or they laid the largest eggs. It's hard to remember what they told me in school and I'd always had my doubts over it anyway. We could never be sure about the birds because all we have are fossils to prove their existence. Archaeologists say they became extinct during the Big War. They'd become a big hype in the press since District 11 dug them up by accident a few years back, and Plutarch was adamant at getting them involved in a sketch on his show.

I didn't mind. It's my job after all.

"You'd better cut back on the pudding, Fin," Mira told me, giving my butt a playful slap once I'd changed into a comfortable pair of pants. "We don't want you losing that stunning body of yours."

"Yes, ma'am," I say obediently, laughing with her. Mira has been with me since I first started here – she's another friendly face along with Juppy.

I say goodbye to Mira and her team and head for the exit. I bump into Britney on the way.

"Sorry!" she cries, as I grab her shoulders to steady her. She seems lost in her own thoughts.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says wistfully but something about her voice stops me from saying whatever I had planned to say next.

"What did you say?" I ask.

She looks up at me, her cheeks tainted the faintest shade of pink. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice back to normal, "Sometimes I just slip. My parents still have the accent and I know I shouldn't use it here but…" she trails off, looking ashamed.

"Hey," I say soothingly, rubbing her shoulders gently. "There's no need to apologize," I assure her. "I've never heard anybody speak like that before. It just caught me off-guard."

I see some unrecognizable emotion cross her eyes before it's gone and she's smiling meekly at me. I can tell by the color of her cheeks that she is still embarrassed so I try to make her feel better.

"I'm not from here either," I tell her. "I've only been living here for three years."

"But I am from here," Britney protests. "I was born and raised in the Capitol."

"Second generation?" I ask. She nods.

"Wow," I murmur, "I can't imagine what that's like."

I try to think how different my life would have been had I been told by my mother that I was never meant to have been born in District 4. I wonder what things Britney's parents have told her about life in their original tribe. I also wonder whether Britney wishes her family could have stayed.

"Let's get out of here," I say suddenly. "We can go and get something to eat."

Britney looks surprised at first but she accepts. I'm relieved to breathe in the fresh air when I step outside. The Television Tower of the Capitol is a new and gorgeous building but it doesn't beat the smell of the fresh air, and the fresh air cannot beat the smell of the salty sea which I miss so much.

"So what Tribe do you come from then?" I ask as we settle into a booth at a restaurant, having grabbed some food from the selection available on the large buffet tables. I'm still not used to paying with coins here. Back home – and still in many of the other districts – we always pay by trade. I'll give you two fish for one of your hooks – things like that.

"My parents come from Tribe 3," Britney answers, keeping her eyes trained on her stew. "I'm from the Capitol."

"Do you like being from the Capitol?"

She doesn't answer. I don't expect her to.

"Tell me about Tribe 3 then," I say, encouraging her to speak more. Part of me is hoping she will slip into the native accent again. It's an odd way of speaking; all fully-pronounce words and optimistic tone.

"Only if you tell me about District 4," she says, bargaining. I smile.

"Okay," I agree. "But you first; your parents still speak in the Tribe's accent then?"

"Yeah, they never could let go of it," she explains. "I like it but it's hard when we go out and they speak to people from around here." She looks up at me, smiling a bit. "They all react like you did and most don't even understand what they're saying."

I look down for a second, slightly ashamed and embarrassed at how I had acted. I look up when I hear her laughing at me. It's a gentle laugh as though she's not sure she should be doing it but can't help it. "Don't look so morbid," she tells me. "It's not your fault you didn't understand me."

"But I did," I protest. "Will you talk like that again?" She looks surprised but then she gives me a small smile. No, not a smile but a smirk.

"Maybe," she says like she is teasing, "If you tell me about District 4."

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"Tell me about your family," she shrugs casually before taking a bite of a bread roll as if the question is nothing. It probably is nothing…to her.

"I have a small family," I begin, unsure what she wants to know. "I was brought up by a family friend in a way. I don't have any parents."

"Everybody has parents," Britney points out gently. "Do you want to talk about it?" Her tone implies she already knows, or at least has some clue, as to what happened.

"My father died in the war," I tell her. There's no need to explain which war I am talking about. There are only three wars to remember now; the Revolutionary War; the Dark Days; and then - before all that - the war that wiped out almost the whole planet, leaving small groups of stragglers behind to pick up the pieces.

"I'm sorry," Britney mutters quietly, messing with her hair again. I can't tell whether it is just a habit or whether I am making her nervous again. I doubt it's the latter; for some reason I find it easy to talk to Britney and I have a feeling she feels the same way.

"I never knew him," I say, as if this makes the whole thing a lot better. But the moment the words leave my lips, I realize it makes the situation sadder. I've never mourned my father; I believe there is no point in shedding tears over somebody I have never even met.

"What about your mother?" Britney asks. I can see the concern in her eyes, her tactic to change subject tears me away from thoughts of the father I never met. I smile at her because I'm grateful and because I'm refusing to be the only one talking.

"No," I say, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms. She looks surprised at first and then a little embarrassed as though she has intruded where she shouldn't have. "It's your turn now," I say and she relaxes. "Tell me about Tribe 3."

She brushes a strand of blonde hair that has fallen loose from her ponytail behind her ear. I notice again how pale she seems, almost ghostly. "What do you want to know?" she asks.

"What's it like?" I encourage her. "I bet it's a world away from the Capitol."

Britney thins her lips and nods. "I only know what my parents tell me. They say it rains a lot."

"That's nice. I like water," I state plainly, thinking of the sea back home.

"It's not that kind of water," Britney says, shaking her head. "It floods homes." I frown, unsure what she means. "Everything gets destroyed," she explains. "And it's cold."

It hardly ever rains in District 4 and the sea is always so warm. What Britney is describing sounds like a dangerous and miserable place. I think back to the news this morning; how desperate those people looked trying to get into the country. I think I'm beginning to understand why.

"So," Britney says, shaking her hair out of her eyes and, in a way, dismissing the morbid topic. "It's my turn again; why acting?"

I'm surprised. Our little deal earlier had meant I had to tell her about District 4. But now she is changing it. Now she is asking about…me. It had been a long time since anybody had asked about me, about what I thought. The monthly interviews Plutarch pushes me through just to get more of my face on television are always centered around my home or my relationships or what's happening on the comedy show. Never before has anybody asked _why _I do what I do.

"You don't have to answer that," Britney says quickly, pulling me back to the present. I look up, having just noticed how long I have been silent for; how long I had been pondering on my thoughts.

"No, it's okay," I say and clear my throat. "Nobody's ever really asked me that question before, and the answer is a little…uncomfortable."

Britney frowns. "What do you mean?"

I sigh, and decide to confide in her anyway. It's been a long time since I was able to confide in anybody. "My mother was…mentally unstable," I say, eyes trained on the white table cloth. I look up briefly to see her reaction but she is still looking at me, concern clouding her eyes. I see no judgment, no disgust, and – most importantly – no sympathy. So I continue, "She was okay most of the time but sometimes she just went off in a sort of…trance." I pause, wonder how much I should tell her before deciding to continue anyway. I've never told anybody this much before. Not Humphrey, not Juppy. It feels good to finally get it off my chest. "And other times she had a child's mind," I say, remembering my mother's face. Her eyes – the same green as mine – were always so wide a childlike. "We used to play a lot of imaginary games together."

"That sounds nice," Britney says. She sounds like she means it. There isn't a hint of patronization in her tone at all.

"Sometimes I pretended to be my father," I say wistfully, unable to stop. "I'd bring in the fish we caught together and pretend I did it all by myself. I used to pretend to look after her…" I stop, suddenly aware of Britney's hand on mine.

"So you act because it's like the games you used to play?" she asks, getting it right the first time. "You do it to remember her."

I nod numbly before I become aware of what she's just said.

"Remember her?" I repeat. "I never said she was dead."

Britney's caring expression falters for a brief moment before she composes herself and looks down quickly at her half-eaten meal. "I just thought…" she trails off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make assumptions."

"No, it's okay," I say quickly, feeling terrible. "It's just that I've never really talked about it with anyone."

"Oh," Britney says sympathetically. "Well, you can talk to me."

"I know," I say.

It's weird, having this sudden yet comfortable connection with somebody. Part of me wonders whether it's because she's not from the Capitol either – like Juppy. Obviously she was born here but it's clear that her parents still hold the many traditions of their home tribe. She seems to stick out as much as I do. I like that.

"How did she…?" Britney trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

I smile at her to reassure her it's fine to ask. I'm twenty-one now, my mother's death feels like a long time ago at this moment. I'm sure by the time I get to sleep tonight, it will feel a lot closer.

"She walked into the sea and didn't stop," I say, smiling sadly.

(*)

I walk Britney back to her house, surprising myself with how dark it has gone. There are no stars in the Capitol – they can't be seen through the thick fog of car fumes – but there is the moon. Tonight it's full, hanging in the sky like a natural lamp and lighting our way home. It's strong enough to throw shadows behind us and glint off the parked cars in front.

Britney lives somewhere between the city and the outskirts of the Capitol. Her house is a small green bungalow, halfway between the one floored apartments in the city and the grand houses on the outskirts.

Part of me expects her to ask me in despite the fact we've only known each other for a day. I shouldn't be surprised when she says a quick goodbye and retreats indoors but I am. I walk the rest of the way to my apartment deep in thought. I'm about to head into my block when I see a little girl running up to me, brandishing a pen and paper.

She only looks about twelve but the glee in her eyes makes her seem even younger. Taking confident strides, she all but rushes over to me.

"Can you sign this please?" she asks almost squeaking. I do so without any bother. I'm used to it now – people asking me for autographs – but this time there's something different.

An older woman catches up to us. I can tell by the red hair that she is the younger girl's mother. I look between the two of them as I hand the paper back with a smile; the girl, so innocent and young; and the woman whose eyes seem older than her face. I think what it must have been like when the mother was her daughter's age, how the only thing she would have seen dominating the television screens was the Hunger Games. Did she sponsor anybody? Cheer when her favorite won?

I can feel myself slowly beginning to resent this stranger. I have to calm down. I have to understand that where the young girl watches Plutarch's comedy show, her mother would have watched the deaths of innocent children. Maybe she enjoyed it. Maybe she didn't.

Burying my feelings, I wave goodbye to them as they continue down the street. All of a sudden the differences have become clear between the innocent and the scarred.

Between me and them.


	3. Three

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

3

Caesar Flickerman laughs at my perfectly placed joke as the cameras continue to roll. Part of me has the urge to turn to Camera 5 and admit Plutarch came up with it. But I don't because that's what the Capitol is; a big fake. Whether it is in the acting of the new kinds of TV shows or the interviews with politicians and celebrities, everything about this part of Panem is fake. And that's not even considering the people!

I can't see them now. The audience in the studio are cast in darkness so as not to distract the interviewer or interviewee. But I saw them when I walked on and the contrasts between the people at home and the people here surprises me every time.

You'd think after living in the Capitol for three years I'd be used to seeing the rainbow of people who live and work here. But I'm not. You can spot somebody from the Capitol from a mile off with their eccentric tattoos and make-up. At school we learned about the Capitol, how their vanity never faded after the war. I had thought it was all a joke.

People from the Districts are easy to spot because they look so natural – most of the time. I can tell from the way they dress to how they act that they are not originally from the Capitol. Still, there was that one time when Plutarch had dragged me and the rest of his cast to a publicity party where I had met a fellow District 4 citizen to find they too had joined the season's fashion of blue skin and golden tattoos. I'd ended up having to apologize over and over again for spraying her with my drink in shock.

"So, Fin," Flickerman says in the casual interview way he has had for as long as anybody now can remember. He's getting on a bit now, there have been rumors that this will be his last year in television though – as with many celebrity rumors – you can't believe everything you hear. Like now when he holds up tomorrow's cover of _The_ _Capitol News. _There's a photo of Britney and I leaving a restaurant yesterday.

My mouth goes dry.

This is not something I'm prepared for. A quick glance to my team tells me they are not prepared either. Well, most of them. For some reason Plutarch looks pleased. I bet he had planned all this.

"Care to enlighten us?" is all Flickerman says as there are collective gasps from the audience. Some start muttering. One person is laughing. No doubt my face looks priceless right now.

The almost-invisible microscopic earpiece that I am wearing crackles into life. It's only to be used in emergencies so I am told – I've never heard my team talk through it before. But now I do. Juxton, my manager – a small, fat, balding guy in his early sixties – comes through, his voice going up ten octaves in his panic.

"She's just a friend, Fin," he hisses into my ear making me almost wince. The line goes dead then and I'm left in the silence of the studio with the audience waiting for my answer – along with thousands sitting at home.

"Leave the boy alone!" Plutarch suddenly shouts, rising from his seat. I look over to him, grateful as I watch him climb the small steps to the interviewing stage in view of the cameras. A tired and surprised woman from the studio crew hurries on with a chair for him before running off quickly. I sit there in stunned silence. Surely there's no point in denying anything now? Even if Britney and I were just friends, the silence has gone on for too long for anybody to be fooled. "Don't you remember your first love, Flickerman?" Plutarch surprises me by saying.

All of a sudden I'm enveloped in a one-armed hug from Plutarch. It's awkward because we are on different seats but, glancing up at the large screen above me, I see the gesture is supposed to be fatherly. Automatically I'm in character, smiling shyly, my face burning.

The audience is a mixture of "awws" and "oohs" at this revelation. I don't know whether it was the front page of the newspaper or Plutarch's entrance onto the stage that has impressed them. Some look disappointed though for whatever reason I cannot fathom.

Flickerman laughs along with us but I can't help but notice he too is surprised by Plutarch's appearance. He gives me a break for which I am thankful and starts firing questions at Plutarch who answers them with ease. I hate how he can do that. Capitol citizens must be born with that skill in their blood.

By the time we get away from the cameras and backstage, the audience is cheering. We walk backstage and straight passed my dressing room. I follow like a lost puppy, unsure where Plutarch is taking me. I think back over the interview. Could it be about me and Britney? Yes, he had kept his calm whilst the cameras were rolling but maybe that had been to save face – and me? He probably knew I would have messed it up anyway.

I'd never been any good at handling the media. I managed to look good and smile and talk to fans but the whole what-to-say-and-what-not-to-say baffles me. I've never wanted the fame and the publicity that comes with my profession. Acting, as Britney had put it, is a way of remembering my mother. And the fact that I star in a show that consists of a series of comedy sketches makes me happy to know I'm making other people happy. I love knowing I am entertaining people in a safe and harmless way.

As Plutarch continues to drag me through a series of corridors and down lifts, I start to fear for my job. On the plus side, I would not need to stay in the Capitol though I would hate to return to District 4 a failure. Nurse Everdeen has such high hopes for me.

By the time Plutarch throws open a door and leads me into a large office, I am almost certain I am in trouble for my relationship with Britney. The question is: would I desert her for my job? Definitely not. I've been raised by two women; I have more respect for them than that.

"Fin, I'd like you to meet President Paylor," Plutarch announces grandly. I can't help but be reminded of the time a few weeks ago when he had introduced me to Britney. Only this time, instead of the fair-haired blue-eyed girl, I see an aged woman sat behind a large oak desk. Her brown hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail and her expression has hardened overtime. We learned in school that President Paylor used to be a soldier. I remember, when I was really young, wondering whether my father would have become President had he survived.

"Nice to meet you," I say, suddenly nervous. The highest authority I have met has been Plutarch. I don't know how I'm supposed to act. Beside me, I'm aware of Plutarch rolling his eyes at me. Still, if I did something wrong, President Paylor doesn't tell me.

"Sit," she orders indicating to a chair on the other side of her desk. She is serious. Her whole expression and body language screams 'militant'. Once a soldier always a soldier, I guess, and then feel sad about that fact. It's as though she'll never have her life back.

I do as I am told. Plutarch sits in the chair next to me. Behind me I can hear movement. I turn to find two heavily armed and well-built soldiers taking their places in front of the double doors which are my way out. Surprised, I turn to look at President Paylor and then at Plutarch.

"All this just because I am dating Britney?" I ask skeptically. President Paylor breathes in quickly through her nose. It's a harsh sound. I can tell by it that I've already upset her.

"What?" Plutarch asks stupidly before realizing what I mean. "Oh, heavens no!" he cries. I think he is about to laugh but he controls himself and makes his expression neutral. I've never seen him neutral before. Normally he's either grinning madly or pouting for the cameras who wait outside his studio. This expression makes him look serious.

"Finnick Odair Jr.," President Paylor addresses me by my full title. I feel nervous. The last time that happened it had been during my auditions for Plutarch's show. I'd quickly corrected them and asked them to call me Fin. However, I don't feel confident enough to correct the President of all people! "Plutarch Heavensbee has called you here for a special mission."

My eyebrows shoot up. I pinch my arm secretly to check I'm not dreaming. A secret mission? What is that supposed to mean? I'm an actor not a government spy!

President Paylor leans back in her chair as though she is waiting for something. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to wait too or if she's expecting me to break the silence by asking questions. Eventually, I go with the latter.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I say, finally remembering my manners. As hard as she may look, President Paylor is still a woman and she deserves to be respected, "I'm not sure I understand."

Plutarch jumps to his feet as though she has given him some sort of invisible cue. He spins the seat of my chair around to face a blank wall which springs to life the moment I look at it. I look up and see a projector hanging from the ceiling. Right. So I'm here for some presentation then.

"Fin Odair," Plutarch addresses me, thankfully getting my preferred name right. "You are aware, at present, that the country is becoming over-run with immigrants are you not?" The tone he takes on in front of President Paylor is unnerving. I feel as though I am talking to a stranger so I nod, afraid to open my mouth in case I say the wrong thing.

Plutarch stands in front of the screen, the projector throws a white light over his face, paling his features and making him look eerie. The presentation then begins showing pictures of immigrants found hiding in forestry or being captured as soon as they enter the country. I recognize District 4 in some of the photos along with District 1 who also has the luxury of having a beach though they use it for tourist purposes only.

"Panem can simply not hold all of the people who wish to live here," Plutarch goes on. I cast a sideways glance at President Paylor, surprised that she is not telling me all this. She looks grim as though she is not happy about something.

I turn back to the presentation in time to see the slide change. A picture of a starving woman and her starving children stare back at me, their dark eyes shining dully in their hollowed sockets.

"To let any more people in," Plutarch continues, "Would mean our own people would have to suffer. There is not enough food to go around." For a second, I am relieved to find the picture is an artist's creation and not an actually photograph. Nobody dies of starvation nowadays.

But then his words hit me. Are they really true? Could the people of Panem suffer because of those outside the country trying to get in? I am suddenly angry about it all but then I think of Britney. If people from the remaining Tribes didn't come here then I never would have met her.

Still, Britney's case is different. Her parents had been recruited here to make up for the numbers lost. She isn't one of those who come in on boats, taking up our land and food when they have no right. I feel my hands balling into fists. Plutarch notices and I swear I see a satisfied smile cross his lips before it fades.

"We need to find a way of stopping these people getting in," Plutarch says, the slide changing to show a picture of a burning home. I don't know what that has to do with anything nor do I know whether or not it is showing the consequences of immigration. He already got me with the image of the starving family. I know what they are talking about now. They want me to help come up with a solution.

But why me?

"We have a solution," Plutarch says as if reading my mind. My eyebrows shoot up again and I lean back in my chair, ready to support whatever idea they have come up with. I will do anything to make sure that image of poverty does not become a reality.

"What is it?" I ask, finding my voice for the first time. I see President Paylor look at me from the corner of my eye though I do not turn to see her expression. I can only imagine she is pleased I am taking an interest.

Suddenly I look back at the door. The men are still stood there. They are the only thing that is making me nervous now that I know my job is still in good standing.

"We want to bring back the Hunger Games," Plutarch finishes.

My blood runs cold, I choke slightly on the air that has clogged my throat when I stopped breathing in shock. I look at President Paylor. She doesn't look any happier than I am about it but her expression tells me she's heard it before.

"We plan to select a boy and a girl from each of the ten remaining Tribes scattered around the world," Plutarch goes on. His voice has hardened to a tone I have never heard him use before.

But, wait, did he really say they were bringing back the Hunger Games? The very same Games that destroyed hundreds of lives in the past?

A slide comes up of a blue background with green shapes scattered across. I realize Plutarch is numbering the Tribes as to what distance they are from Panem. I can't help but feel impressed that this is a world map. I've never seen one before. I'm surprised by how much water there is and when Plutarch is finished numbering the Tribes, I notice there is a lot of land left. No doubt it is probably unsafe due to radiation from the bombs in the Big War. We learned that much in school at least.

"Are you seriously suggesting this?" I ask, finding my feet. A guard from the door rushes over and holds my arms behind my back. Ah, so this is why they are here. It all makes sense now.

"We have no choice," Plutarch tells me. The desperation in his voice almost makes me believe him. Almost. "It's different from last time," he continues. "The children must be between sixteen and twenty; they will have military training from the army before going into the arena; and nobody can volunteer meaning there shall be no Career…Tribes." He caught himself at the last minute but I knew he almost said 'Districts'.

"The winner will earn a place for their family to live in Panem," Plutarch finishes. He softens his voice when he sees I am still being restrained by the guard. "Most of these Tribes don't even speak our words," Plutarch explains to me. "And they are not from Panem. This is different."

"They're still children," I spit.

"But they are not ours," Plutarch presses. "They probably won't even know what's going on. Their education systems are practically non-existent."

"And how would you know?" I ask. "Have you been there?"

An odd emotion flickers across Plutarch's face before he composes himself again. "As a matter of fact, I have," he says. "And you will too."

I don't even reply to that. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me interested in his little scheme.

"We want you to be the face of the Games," Plutarch says, at last getting to the reason I am here.

"What?" I cry, struggling against the guard. Despite spending my teenage years hauling heavy net loads of fish around, I am no match for the military-trained man who holds me still without even breaking a sweat.

"You're the son of two victors from the previous Hunger Games," Plutarch explains calmly. "And you're so well known and liked that you will definitely win the public round. Especially the women," he adds offering me a smile, "Although, after the whole Britney revelation I'm not too sure about that."

"Is that why you're doing this?" I demand, "Because you're angry with me for being with Britney?"

Plutarch frowns as though he is considering something. "No, I am not angry at all," he says. "What you do in your free time is none of my business."

"Then you won't mind me turning this down then," I say.

"Of course not," Plutarch tells me. "We'll just have to find somebody else won't we? I'm sure we can hold out long enough until Rosie is ready."

I don't know who he means and I'm too caught up in my anger to even ask. Instead I turn as much of my body as I can to face Paylor. She doesn't deserve respect anymore, I decide.

"This is all your fault," I tell her.

"I know," she agrees, surprising me. Her eyes look pained but I refuse to pity her for whatever reason that might be. "And that is why I am fixing it. Like Plutarch says this time it is different. They are not really even children."

Something hard hits me on the back of my head and I see black spots before I pass out but not before I spit directing into Paylor's face.

(*)

Somebody is pressing an ice pack gently at the back of my head whilst running their fingers through my hair. For a moment I'm reminded of my mother and consider the fact I may have died. Attempting to get up, however, sends a white hot shoot of pain running from head, down my back and I groan aloud in agony.

Surely, the afterlife isn't supposed to hurt this much?

"Don't move." It's a gentle voice. Not my mother's but then again, it's not my mother's accent either. It's Britney and she's speaking like she would with her parents. She only does it with me and only because it means she's comfortable with me. I like it. I like how she can feel so secure when it's just us two.

"What happened?" I whisper because even that echoes loudly in my head and springs tears to my eyes. I dread to think what actual talking would be like.

"Plutarch dropped you off home," Britney explains. "I was waiting here like you told me to. You said you were going to take me out to dinner tonight after your interview, do you remember?"

"Sort of," I say, somewhere between a groan and a whisper.

"I cancelled our table," she tells me. "Plutarch says you assaulted the President but he wouldn't tell me anything more."

At the second mention of Plutarch's name, everything comes racing back to me and I sit up quickly in shock. My scream of pain echoes around my apartment. Britney gently pulls me back down. I realize I'm lying on my leather sofa with my head in Britney's lap. She resumes her motion of stroking my hair.

"Just relax," she soothes. "You can tell me everything later." I notice her voice is a little choked up. Is she worried about me? It hurts to open my eyes for too long so I can't check whether or not she is crying.

"Can I sleep?" I whisper, feeling the warm blanket of unconsciousness threatening to take me again.

"Yes," she tells me, removing the ice pack so I am more comfortable. "The doctor's already given you the tablets so there's no harm in sleeping." I try to remember ever swallowing tablets but it hurts too much to think so I don't worry about it and instead fall into a restless sleep.

I dream I am in an arena. The trees tower over me, and heavy bucketfuls of water fall down on me from where the rain has collected on the large leaves. It's hard to breathe and I fear I may drown until I reach an opening and fall onto the soft grass of a meadow. There is no rain here and the sun beats down gently. I feel safe until a figure comes into view. Britney. She is staring down at me; the sun illuminating her blonde curls and making her look like she has a halo. I smile up at her.

She drives a spear through my heart.

I wake up screaming to find Britney still with me on the couch. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me to her until I calm down. My head is throbbing slightly but it's a lot better than it was before.

"Ssh," she soothes, gently rocking me, "It's okay." I'm reminded of my mother again and choke back a sob. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks.

"Nightmare," is all I get out.

"I meant about how you got knocked out for assaulting the President," Britney says, a smile in her tone. I can tell she's trying to make light of it all. But I'm too upset to smile back.

I slowly tell her everything over the next hour, needing to break at times when it all gets too much or the pressure in my head increases. She listens, holding me when I cry but never saying anything.

By the time I'm finished I'm exhausted again and she helps me to bed. As I crawl under the covers, sobbing again like a baby, Britney kisses me and tells me she needs to get home tonight. I don't want her to leave me but I feel she has already done too much.

I quickly drift off to sleep with Britney's last words echoing in my mind, "I'm sorry, Fin."

(*)

I don't go to work over the next few weeks. I mope around my apartment, only eating when Britney visits. She tells me Plutarch has told everyone I've quit the show because I want to concentrate on my relationship with her.

"He's cornering you into this, Fin," she tells me one day whilst combing my hair. I rub a hand over my face, feeling how long my stubble has gotten.

"What am I going to do?" I ask her, almost begging. I'd never in a million years ever expected to be put into this sort of situation.

"What are you afraid of?" Britney asks me.

"I'm not afraid of anything," I protest. "I don't want to be the one who is cheering on all those children as they fight to the death. Didn't you learn about the Hunger Games?"

"Of course I did," she tells me, her voice quiet.

"And it will be teenagers from the Tribes, Britney," I say. "There will be a boy and a girl from your Tribe."

She stops combing my hair. I expect her to remind me again that she was born in the Capitol and is therefore from here. But instead she says, "My parents told me about Tribe 3 and, from what I've heard, I bet a lot of people would even volunteer to do these Games should it mean their family gets a better life."

"Really?" I ask, shocked. I'd expected her to be set against them like me.

"Really," she says definitely. "Sometimes it's worth the risk to escape the poverty."

I've never known poverty before. I've never felt the snarling pains of hunger or the chill from an unheated home. I don't know how desperate people in those situations can be.

"Then we should help them," I say, "Not let them kill each other."

"Maybe if you agree then you could work from the inside and help them that way," she suggests. "They're going to find somebody to do it anyway, Fin. At least if it's you, there's still hope that they won't be here to stay."

"What are you saying?" I ask, pulling away from her soothing hands and looking into her face.

She stares back at me with honesty as she says in the Capitol accent, "I think you should become the face of the Hunger Games, Fin."


	4. Four

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

4

My stomach is churning as I wait outside Plutarch's office. The secretary in the lobby of the building was very surprised to see me here. She even complimented on how well I was looking. I may have shaved and washed my hair but the bags under my eyes and the shame of what I am about to do are never going to be removed fully.

"Fin!" Darcy Williams cries as she sees me. She's a fellow cast member, known for playing the parts of glamorous mothers and desperate single women. I used to think her sketches were funny but now the memory of laughing at them makes me feel sick. "What are you doing here, darling?" she asks. "Juxton's been down, you know, I think he's looking for fresh blood."

"Is he?" I ask wearily, remembering his panicked voice over the earpiece at the interview a few weeks ago. I haven't heard nor seen him since.

"Yeah, I told him you would come back once you came to your senses but he was having none of it," she goes on, taking a seat on one of the waiting chairs next to me. "I mean, I know you're smitten with this girl, Fin, but you're only twenty-one. You've got your whole career ahead of you, sweetie."

If only you knew, I thought. Darcy made it sound so simple, so easy. When Plutarch had dragged me to the President's office of the Television Tower, my worst fear had been I'd have to give up my career for Britney. I was prepared to do it too but had felt relieved when I had realized it wasn't what they had wanted me for. I wish more than anything that they had made me give up my career instead.

The way I saw it, my career was as good as dead anyway. I'd have to put in all my efforts into taking down Paylor's idea. Still, Plutarch's idea of the Tribe's people not being real people and Britney saying that they would do anything to get out of the poverty stuck with me. I don't even know what I think anymore. On one hand, I would be encouraging people to cheer on the Hunger Games once again. But on the other, I would be giving one of the Tribal families a chance to win a better life.

"Sweetie?" Darcy gives me a gentle shake of the shoulder to get my attention. As usual she's dressed to impress in an aqua blue suit with a tight bodice that emphasizes her chest area. On any other day I'd have made a comment or taken a sly look to which she would shoot down with a witty remark.

Now all I want to do is cry on her shoulder.

"Come on then," she says, "Tell me about this lady friend of yours. I never even knew you were straight."

"You said," I smile, remembering all the guys she offered to set me up with. "I was just being respectful," I tell her, deciding not to add about the part where I was too embarrassed to bring a girl home should I fall asleep, have a nightmare and cry.

Britney had been very understanding when I awoke with tears streaming down my face the first time. Images of the last time I saw my mother were less frequent when I slept since I'd been with her. Now my mind was plagued with scenes of me dying in the arena. Thankfully the murderers were now strangers rather than people I knew. I never told Britney about her appearance in the first nightmare; she probably thought I was too much of a baby anyway.

"Respectful?" Darcy scoffs, standing back up. "Women don't need respect, kid." She pats my hair before walking off down the hall. Her platform shoes clink against the oak floor.

Alone again, I sigh and put my head in my hands.

"Fin!" A few minutes later, I look up to find Plutarch looking down at me, beaming. "It's good to see you again! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I scowl. "You know why I'm here," I hiss.

He looks uncomfortable after that, shifting from foot to foot and looking both ways down the long corridor. "Come on then," he says, opening his door. "Let's talk."

He lets me in first and then locks the door behind me. I raise an eyebrow at him as he walks across the large room and takes his seat behind a large desk. He interlocks his fingers and places them on the dark wood.

"Have a seat, Fin," he says though it's more like an offer as though we're here to discuss the odds for the Mutt Races.

"No guards?" I ask, voicing the first thing I had noticed when I came in here. I take a seat in a large blue armchair opposite the desk. The blue represents District 4 as does the green fishing net hung up on one wall. Plutarch has a little of every District in his office ranging from the decorative ornaments of District 1 to the coal stones from District 12 which line a shelf in the bookcase. The coal mines are ancient history now but when I pointed that out to Plutarch upon seeing his office three years ago, he'd told me he was very interested in ancient history. The Capitol is represented by the view behind him. One wall is dominated by glass and – being on the 90th floor – the view of the Capitol stretches on for miles.

"I'm afraid only President Paylor has the authority for guards," Plutarch smiles. "I'm not important enough clearly."

"Okay, enough chit-chat," I say, unable to stand being civil for any longer. I'd never looked at Plutarch as a friend – we may have been on good terms but he was still just my boss. Now just being in the same room with him makes me angry.

"You've decided to say yes," Plutarch says for me. "It only took you three weeks."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, gripping the arms of the chair so as not to shout, cry or hit him.

"Nothing," Plutarch replies, holding his hands up as though he is surrendering. "I think you are making the right choice," he adds gently. "If we send this out to the Tribes then they will stop trying to get into the country. Hundreds of lives will be saved."

"You could just try to help them," I say, "Instead of sending them back, shooting them or killing their children."

"We made a mistake opening up Panem all those years ago," he says. When he talks like this you can tell how old he is getting. Gray hair is quite popular in the Capitol nowadays but on Plutarch he looks like an old, weathered man. "Well, President Paylor made the mistake," he corrects himself bitterly. "Still, at least she is opening up to the idea."

"It was you who put it forward wasn't it?" I say, stating what I already know but feel the need to ask.

"I had to," Plutarch says. "President Paylor knows what she's doing when it comes to war but not when the enemy are defenseless Tribe's People."

"Why can't we help them?" I ask, feeling like a pleading child.

"Maybe we can," Plutarch shrugs. "Once we get the country sealed off for good, maybe we can find a way to help them help themselves."

"But not in our lifetime," I say, stating what I see in his eyes.

Plutarch smiles at me, his brown eyes sympathetic behind his thick-rimmed glasses as though I am nothing more than a little kid who doesn't understand what's really going on. "It takes years to set up an independent country," he explains.

I sigh and put my head in my hands again.

"Just tell me what I've got to do," I say, talking to the purple woven carpet from District 8.

"First, you will meet your team," Plutarch says, digging some papers out of his desk drawer. I stare at the pile he places on the desk.

"You knew I'd say yes didn't you?" I whisper, realization dawning on me.

"Yes I did," Plutarch says. "You're just like your father."

At the mention of my father, my eyes snap to his. "What do you mean by that?"

I see panic flash in Plutarch's eyes before he composes himself. "I mean he was always up for a challenge too."

"You call this a challenge?" I ask, bitterly before shaking my head. "Whatever. Just tell me everything."

"Like I said, first you will meet your team," Plutarch explains, leafing through the papers. "They're just like the team you're used to except for the soldiers."

"Soldiers?" I repeat, despite planning not to disrupt the flow of his explanation.

"You'll need protection," Plutarch tells me as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll have a guard with you at all times." He seems hesitant as though there's more to say but he's not quite sure how to say it.

"What is it, Plutarch?" I demand. In order to talk them around, I need to know everything.

"Nothing, I just need you to sign here so we can get you around the world as soon as possible," he says, handing a sheet of paper and a pen over to me. "You'll be visiting each Tribe individually and staying there for two days and one night. You're job will be to get the idea of Games across as positively as possible. This is a way out for them, remember that."

"Are there some people who miss the Games?" I demand suddenly. "Are you one of them? Do you miss seeing bloodshed on your television?"

Plutarch eyes me with distaste as he leans back in his chair. "I'm doing my best for the country," he says. "As far as I am concerned, this is the only solution."

"Yeah, yeah," I say to shut him up, "So you keep saying." I'm so wound up at this point that I grab my pen and scribble my signature furiously on the paper, almost tearing through it. "Let's get this over with," I mutter. In my mind, I tell myself over and over again that the Tribe's people are not real people. It's okay. I've never met a Tribe's person before – Britney has always been hesitant whenever I ask about meeting her parents despite the fact she's met Nurse Everdeen.

"Very well," Plutarch says. He's grinning now. It's making me nervous. He reaches across the desk and takes the paper from me. Looking it over, he says, "I'll read the small print for you shall I?"

I gulp audibly. My stomach is churning again. I hope there's nothing in that small print that is important because I've done it now. I've signed my life away. I wish Juxton was here. As annoying as the small man is, he knew how to handle contracts and the media. I was just a puppet in his world, just as I am now. Except this is much worse because I'm now the Capitol's puppet.

"The military soldiers are not just there for your protection, Fin," Plutarch says. For a second I wonder if he is actually reading the small print but I look up to find his eyes staring at me, hard and cold. "Speak out against this solution and you will be executed on the spot."

So there it is. The flaw in my plan. I cannot stop this now. Worse, I can't even refuse to do it anymore. They have me under contract and, if there's one thing I've learned in my three years in the television business, is that once they've got you under contract there's no getting out.

Plutarch must have seen my reaction because he gets up and turns his back to me, taking in the view of the Capitol. I wonder why he does this; is he waiting for me to digest the information? I realize how badly I want to kill him now and it scares me. I long for the strength to walk up behind him and snap his neck. If I was strong enough I could do it; I have the motivation to. In five minutes he could be dead but were would that leave me?

"Thank you for this, Fin," he says suddenly, surprising me. "You have no idea how much this will help…the country." I can tell he had changed his sentence halfway through but before I can even contemplate what he was going to say, his pager bleeps.

After scanning the incoming message and tapping off a reply, Plutarch looks up at me and I now truly see sadness in his eyes. "Like I said, Fin," he tells me, adopting a fatherly tone as he did that fateful night of the interview. "You will never know how much you are helping us, and I'm sorry to have to do this to you."

I'm about to ask what he is talking about when he goes and unlocks his office door. To say I am surprised to see Britney confidently stride in is an understatement.

"As I was saying before," Plutarch says, talking to his feet. Part of me hopes he is hanging his head in shame rather than just being uncomfortable with the scene, "You're just like your father. You never could resist the charms of a woman."

"I'm sorry, Fin," Britney whispers as a solitary tear falls down her cheek.


	5. Five

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

5

Britney stands there at the doorway, tears falling silently down her pale cheeks. I stare at her from my seat, feeling as though I will never be able to move again. I have no idea what is going on but the gnawing feeling in my chest tells me I've been betrayed.

We stay like this for a few seconds, the three of us in total silence. Nobody knows what to say; Britney is too busy crying, and Plutarch is still staring at his feet. I still want him to feel ashamed. I wish he would just stop this madness, tear apart the contract he now holds firmly in his hand, and let things go back to normal. I'm scared that, if I speak, I will throw up.

Eventually Britney takes in a shaky breath, "I'm sorry," she says again. "I had no choice," she continues.

Britney has betrayed me. That much is clear. My mind is slowly piecing together everything that has gone on over the past couple of months but something else is distracting it. I've heard people say that when you die your life flashes before your eyes. My mother was a firm believer in it. She often told me that the last thing she would see would be me. I try not to dwell on that bit too much.

I'm not dying, but whatever I have with Britney is, and it's like our relationship is flashing before my eyes. I get grainy pictures; the pair of us curled up on the sofa drinking the tea her mother had taught her to make, a recipe from Tribe 3; all the times we went out to dinner and just talked; how I felt with I realized I could really connect with her; how she held me after my nightmares; how she felt curled up in my arms every night.

Her next words shock me out of my reverie. "They have my brother."

Britney has never mentioned a brother of hers but even that small sentence makes sense. She's never took me to her home before. She's never so much as mentioned me meeting her parents. Even Plutarch's reaction to the newspaper reporting mine and Britney's relationship makes sense. Of course he wouldn't be angry or panicked by it like Juxton was. It had been what he had wanted.

"What do you mean?" I ask, choked.

"They were going to hurt him," she whispers, trying to hold back the tears. "They said if I didn't get you to agree they would hurt him. I had to, I'm so sorry."

"Who?" I ask brokenly, "How?" I want to ask who did this and how long it has been going on for but the ache in my chest and the feeling in my gut are telling me I already know the answers.

Instinctively, Britney casts a glance to Plutarch who is looking up at me now as if calculating my next move. He must have guessed right because as soon as I push off my chair to get to him, a soldier comes through the door and grabs hold of me. He seizes me in the all too familiar way of holding my arms behind my back.

"We had to get you to agree to this, Fin," he says.

"Why?" I scream. "Why couldn't you do your dirty work for yourself?" I feel as though I am losing control over my life and I can't stand it.

Whatever I have said makes Plutarch reflect for a moment before he strides over to me, staring me in the face. It's frustrating because I can't reach out and punch him. I don't spit in his face or struggle – I learned my lesson from last time – but I feel my hands tremble with temptation.

"We have to win the public over, Fin," Plutarch says, his breath washing over my face he is so close. "And only you, the child of two victors, can do it. Or you get executed. It's as simple as that." He waves the contract in my face as a painful reminder. "Britney was in this all along," Plutarch goes on. "Now you can forget all about her. None of it was real."

That last part is like a punch in the gut. Instead of being physically winded, however, the fight leaves me and I slump defeated in the soldier's hold.

"I am sorry, Fin," Britney says. "They were going to hurt my brother."

"Yes, look on the bright side," Plutarch says. "At least you saved one little life." The unrecognizable emotion crosses Plutarch's face again but I don't even care enough to contemplate it anymore.

I don't know how old Britney's brother is nor do I want to ask. I close my eyes, not wanting to even see her anymore. I think she takes the hint and when I open them again after hearing the door close, she is gone. I am left with Plutarch and the soldier.

"Well, now that that's over we might as well get introductions out of the way," Plutarch says almost brightly.

The soldier releases me and it takes all my effort not to slump to the floor and cry. A few weeks ago I would have cried but signing that paper has hardened something inside of me. To cry would be to look weak and that's not something I can afford right now.

"Fin Odair, meet General Gale Hawthorne. He's the leader of your military team," Plutarch says. I look up to meet the aged gray eyes of a man who has seen a lot of pain. You can tell by the way his features have been weathered; a scar running down the left side of his face, cutting through his eye tells me he's half blind. Yet I still know he could kill me in an instant. He wouldn't have become General for nothing.

I nod at the older man, noticing his hair is still a dark brown. I almost smile at that, even if it's not done on purpose he doesn't seem the type of man to follow the gray trend of the Capitol. That's probably why he also refused to replace his useless eye with a man-made working one.

"District 2?" I guess. It's where most of the military comes from. I once asked Nurse Everdeen if it was natural for people to be born war-ready in that District. She didn't answer.

"Originally District 12," General Hawthorne replies taking no offense at all.

Already he has my respect. Even after twenty years, people are still reluctant to move from their birth places. Part of me hopes I get his respect for moving from my home District to the Capitol. Still, my move meant I was living in a land of luxury. His move meant he was going into a world of training and work. I feel like a wimp standing next to him.

"Medicine," I state, trying to say anything to fill the silence, to take my mind of Britney. The ache of betrayal in my chest is still there and I long for nothing more than to go home and breakdown.

General Hawthorne nods but doesn't offer anything more. Luckily, Plutarch chooses that moment to intervene.

"Well, we need to report to President Paylor now. No rest for the wicked, eh?" he jokes. But to me he is simply stating the truth.

President Paylor accepts my agreement with the same grim expression she wore last time I saw her. I expect her to be as happy with it as Plutarch is. But something in her cold eyes unnerves me. I have a horrible feeling she expected me to do something else, to stand up to it all. I push that feeling aside, telling myself over and over that it can't be right. After all, this is what Paylor wants.

No, I correct myself, this is what the country needs. Paylor believes she is acting in the best interests of her people. I now believe that she really thinks she doesn't have a choice.

Two more guards are waiting in the same office I had sat in three weeks ago. I vaguely recognize them as the same two who were there. One of them gives me a sly smile; I have a feeling he was the one who knocked me out.

"Glad to see you've decided to join us," Paylor tells me as soon as I'm seated with the two guards on either side of me. She doesn't look glad though; her expression remains impassive. "Arrangements have been made for you to leave Panem in two weeks to travel round the Tribes."

I take in a deep breath. The thought of leaving Panem terrifies me so much that I grip the arms of my chair, my knuckles turning white.

"Do you have any questions?" she finishes after explaining that I will speak to the Tribe's people and present the Games in a positive manner.

"Yes," I say, surprising myself. "I would like to see my family before I go."

"You don't have any family," Plutarch cuts in hurriedly.

"Yes I do," I say defensively. "Nurse Everdeen is back home in District 4 and I would like to see her before I go."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Plutarch says but Paylor cuts him off.

"Be quiet, Heavensbee," she snaps. "Fin is already doing enough for us. The least we can do is let him see this woman before he leaves for a month."

I feel my stomach flip with nerves as I hear how long I will be away. Still, at least it will offer some distraction from Britney and what she's done.

"You will leave for District 4 tomorrow and return in one week to prepare," Paylor tells me. "General Hawthorne will accompany you at all times."

I'm about to protest but General Hawthorne speaks up, "Very well, ma'am."

I sigh and look up at the golden ceiling with the large chandelier reflecting the light across the room. All of a sudden I feel as if everybody is in control of my life except me.

(*)

Nurse Everdeen is both shocked and pleased to see me when I turn up at her doorstep. She envelopes me in a hug before I've even put my bag down. I hug her back tightly, relieved to finally get off the train – where the fifteen-hour ride had been spent in uncomfortable silence with the General – and to see her again after so long.

"I missed you too," I say. "But there's somebody I need you to meet." I step to the side and let General Hawthorne through the doorway. But as soon as the pair lock eyes I know there's no need to introduce anybody to anybody. They know each other, much to my surprise.

Nurse Everdeen's soft and welcoming face hardens as she sees the younger man and she turns to me as she says, "Fin, you've got a lot of explaining to do."

We sit round the fire in the living area. The sun has dipped so low that it casts orange shadows along the living room through the high criss-crossed windows which look out onto the sea. The fire crackles comfortably as the three of us nurse mugs of coffee.

I've told Nurse Everdeen everything. From how the Capitol tricked me to what I've agreed to represent. She listens, her eyes closed. I don't know whether it's her way of taking everything in or if she's too disappointed in me to even look me in the eye.

"I have to leave in one week," I tell her. "I'm travelling around the Tribes promoting the…Games."

Her head falls into her hands and General Hawthorne watches her. He's too professional to show any sign of emotion but, just for a moment, I think I see a flicker of sympathy cross his hard gray eyes.

"How do you know each other?" I demand suddenly.

For the past hour, all the attention has revolved around me. Both General Hawthorne and Nurse Everdeen have kept their eyes fixed on me or other parts of the room. They refuse to look at each other, even though I feel as if I'm intruding to ask, I can't stand the thought of walking on egg shells round the two of them for the next five week. I need to know what's going on.

"Nurse Everdeen and I knew each other back in District 12," General Hawthorne volunteers information as Nurse Everdeen looks painfully out of the windows. "My family were close to her family."

I pick up on the past tense and decide to drop the topic entirely. The last thing I need is to get involved with other people's problems. I've got enough of my own at the moment.

"Never mind us," Nurse Everdeen says, waving her hand dismissively. "What about you, Fin? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

The shame and disappointment in her voice is evident. I hang my head, ashamed to even meet her eyes. She's right; I still don't really have any idea what I've done. All I know of the Hunger Games, I have learned in school. I've never had firsthand experience of the Games. Not like Nurse Everdeen. She would have watched children dying on her television years ago. She didn't like talking about the Games so I didn't dwell on them too much when I was around her. But her reaction has me wondering whether there was a more personal issue with it all. Did she have a friend she lost? Or, heaven forbid, a child?

"There's nothing I can do," I say quietly.

"Now you're sounding like the Capitol," Nurse Everdeen tells me, adopting the stern voice I had heard so often as a child. "There's always a choice."

She looks at General Hawthorne then, her mouth thinning out into a line before she rises from her seat and walks into the kitchen. I stare after her, contemplating what to do.

"Leave her," the General makes my decision for me. "She needs some time to digest it all."

"How can you do this?" I ask him. "If you knew her so well, how can you…?"

"I'm not the one who signed the papers," General Hawthorne tells me.

"They would have found somebody else to present them if I'd refused," I say defensively. "It was only a matter of time and even if they couldn't have found somebody else they would have gone ahead with it anyway."

"So why is it better that you represent them?" he asks. "Do you have some secret plan up your sleeve that I don't know about?" His hand brushes ever so slightly over the gun in his belt. He had kept it covered in front of Nurse Everdeen by his thick green military coat but now he made sure I could see it at all times.

"One thing the war didn't do," he continues, "Was stop people from the Capitol being sick and greedy bastards."

Not being able to stand being in the same room as him anymore, I rise and walk out onto the deck outside which overlooks the beach. We have a pier that runs high above the beach and over the sea so you can jump into the water from it. I think about it. I think about jumping into the blue and swimming without stopping.

But I know the General is watching me through the windows. I can feel his eyes bearing into the back of my neck. I feel trapped.

"My youngest daughter was picked for the Hunger Games you know," Nurse Everdeen says. I am startled at the sound of her voice behind me. Turning round, I come face to face with her sad and aged expression. Behind her I can see _him _watching me, his cold eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I'm sorry," I say because, having never heard Nurse Everdeen talk about having any children, I assume her daughter was killed.

"Her older sister stepped up for her," Nurse Everdeen smiles sadly.

"Oh," is all I say to that. It's all I can think of to say.

"She didn't die," Nurse Everdeen continues, her voice strangely numb. "She won." Whilst she had been talking, she had been keeping her eyes on the sea beyond the beach. Now she turns to me, "Haven't you heard of Katniss Everdeen?"

I hear myself gasp and stumble back.

Of course I have heard of Katniss Everdeen. She was the Mockingjay, the leader of the revolution who went mad and was sentenced to life in District 12. I remember hearing the surname and rushing home to tell Nurse Everdeen. She had told me she didn't have children, that it must be a coincidence.

"You never said," I whisper.

"I tried to forget," she admits quietly.

"What about your youngest daughter?" I ask. "Where is she now?"

She doesn't answer but takes in a shaky breath before turning to face me full on. "The Games ruined my life, Fin, just remember that." And she walks away from me, back into the kitchen.

I lean over the wooden railing of the deck and stare down at the white grains of sand far below me. I think of my mother. I think of how ashamed she would be if she were here now. Just the thought of what I have already done would probably send her even crazier.

For the first time ever, I'm glad she is dead.


	6. Six

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

6

I leave for Tribe 1 tomorrow. They tell me it's all that's left of what was once known as South America. They don't use the same words we do. I don't know what that means for me or how I am going to be able to communicate with them.

But before I can do all that, I need to make a speech to the public. Despite my absence in the public eye for over a month, Plutarch is quick to tell me that my fans are still waiting for me.

"You know what they say," he told me when I had arrived back home from District 4, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

So now I stand at a podium in front of most of the Capitol. I hear girls screaming my name and the crowd cheers but I'm too numb to notice anything else. The crowd goes on for as far as the eye can see. I'm aware of Plutarch and President Paylor sitting behind me. I can almost feel Plutarch's beaming grin bearing into the back of my neck. And I'm most definitely aware of General Hawthorne and his soldiers standing offstage so the crowd can't see them. Their guns pointing right at me.

Looking down, I find the screen in the podium already reeling off my words. At least I didn't have to write this monstrosity of a speech myself. As Plutarch had reminded me, I was an actor; I said the words, I didn't write them.

"Citizens of Panem," I declare, loud and clear. I concentrate on not feeling anything, on not letting my emotions get the better of me. My image and my message are being broadcast all across Panem. I can't afford even for my voice to catch and give my emotion away.

"I stand before you today," I continue, "As not just the handsome face off the television-" I cringe as people laugh, amused. Some cheer and whoop. I wish I had read this through before now. "-but as a valued member of the Panem Government." The fact that I have seemingly ventured into politics causes murmuring to spread throughout the crowd. I wait for the noise to die down before I continue.

"Panem is in a state of crisis," I continue, "And we need to band together to come through this crisis. People who do not belong in our country are trying to force their way in. We can't afford to feed and cater for everybody. If they continue to enter our borders, our own people will starve."

More murmuring. This time it's shocked and angry. The screaming fan girls have been overtaken by the deep voices of their fathers and husbands who, by the sounds of it, agreed with everything I – or Plutarch the scriptwriter – was saying.

"To combat the situation, the government has proposed a solution which I, Fin Odair, fully support." I pause to check I'm not going to vomit; I feel as though I am reading aloud my contract. Once the sickness in my stomach has subsided, I continue. "We feel we have no choice but to resort to a solution inspired by the Hunger Games."

A few people gasp. These are the older generation, and ones who are originally from the Districts. The others are too young to have experienced the Games personally or are from the Capitol so were never really affected anyway.

"Each year we shall select one boy and one girl aged sixteen to twenty from each Tribe through lottery. These will battle it out in arenas televised to you, the public. You have the option to sponsor and support your favorite but only one will win and earn their family a better life in Panem."

The crowd is stunned into silence. They don't know how to react. This isn't the Hunger Games they are used to nor does it affect them. After all, it is not their children fighting to the death. I wonder how the audience behind the screens are feeling; the people in the Districts. I bet they hate me right now.

I long for nothing more than to tell them how wrong this idea is but I'm too much of a coward and the guns are still pointing at me. Would there be an uproar if I was to be shot dead on stage? Maybe. Maybe not. I am too easy to replace.

"I hope you will join me in my support for the Games." I swallow hard to rid my throat of the rising bile. Hopefully nobody seems to notice my discomfort. "I will soon be leaving to spread this message across the world. Thank you."

I walk off the stage as I am instructed to by the screen on the podium. Nobody cheers, nobody boos. Everybody is frozen in a state of shock. Well, everybody except Plutarch.

"Fin, you're an actor," he reminds me once we meet up backstage, "You'll have to do better than that."

(*)

A lot of travel in Panem is by train. Very rarely do the hovercrafts come into action so, as we board one to fly over to Tribe 1, it's my first time travelling by air. My stomach is in knots.

"You gonna be okay?" Jem asks, taking a seat next to me. Jem is part of the camera crew who will be filming my journey around the world. He is from District 4 but has lived in the Capitol since he was twelve. He's three years younger than me yet he seems okay with the whole flying thing.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I assure him. He gives me a skeptical look from under his blonde fringe but says no more as he returns to looking out the window.

My hands are shaking slightly as the hovercraft lifts into the air. To take my mind off how far above the ground we are, I look at the team of strangers who are accompanying me on my trip.

Jem is part of a small team of three. He and his co-workers, Anton and Blie, have been ordered to film every speech I give and every moment I communicate with the people of the Tribes. My stylist, Katrina, is with me to make me look good at all times. She is the only familiar face on board – along with General Hawthorne. At first, I felt guilty and felt as though I was dragging her into this – with her being my stylist on Plutarch's show and everything. Plutarch surprised me by telling me she had volunteered herself for the job.

And of course, the soldiers are here. There are about five in all but I don't bother to learn their names. I know the General's and that is enough.

"I hope you're prepared for this, Mr. Odair," Blie tells me as soon as we are cruising through the air. "The Tribes are nothing like Panem."

"Just call me Fin," I tell him. "And I'm taking you've already visited them?" I can't help but sound impressed. It's so alien for anybody to have ventured out of Panem.

"Indeed I have," Blie replies. "And believe me, _Fin_-" He stressed my name as though it's a silly one, "-when you see the state of these places, you'll find they'll be begging to get into these Games. Only chance they have of getting out of the poverty."

"When did you see them?" I ask him. I don't care if he looks down on me, my stomach is churning again and I need a distraction.

"I was part of the camera crew that went out with President Paylor," he tells me, as though I should be impressed. "I filmed her saving those little people from all that hunger and taking them to Panem." He obviously has a great deal of pride and respect for the President.

I can't help but play with him.

"So I suppose you'll agree when I say she started this whole immigration mess in the first place by telling the Tribes about Panem?" I say.

An unnamed soldier grabs Blie's wrist before his punch can hit me. Blie is ordered to remain silent and seated for the rest of the journey. I smirk at him in satisfaction.

We land in Tribe 1 to the greeting of a crowd of people. For a moment I am taken aback by the difference of these people. The faces looking back at me are a mixture of black and white, blonde and ginger, green-eyed and brown-eyed. It's not unusual to have a mix of people in different places back home now but it's a new thing. I know it never happened before the Revolutionary War.

The people look surprised and scared at first but when we approach them with our hands in the air – as we are instructed to do by General Hawthorne – they can't get enough of us.

I lost count at the amount of times I was poked and prodded in the face. One little girl seemed to like my hair as she kept reaching up to touch it. I don't know whether it was the color or the style but she loved it. Her mother places her in my arms so she can reach up and feel it. I hold her to me, marveling in how similar we are. She's human.

Despite my rejection of the Government's plan to bring the Hunger Games back, I'd always had this feeling that the people in the Tribes were different to us. But they're not. And I realize this from just my first visit, from just holding this young child in my arms. I had been stupid to ever try to convince myself otherwise.

Tribe 1 is a beautiful place. The people here do not bother with houses, probably because of the heat and they take shelter under the large leaves of the tall trees that are all over the small country. There seems to be no order here. There is no leadership or Capitol, just people living. And I find it wonderful.

Their only source of nourishment is the purple sour berries that grow in the bushes. We are all offered bits of food as soon as we arrive. Despite them not knowing we were coming they seem delighted to have us. Their words come out fast but with an odd rhythm. I wish I could understand what they are saying.

I take a woven bowl from a small girl with big green eyes and olive skin. I thank her and she grins at me though I am certain she cannot understand my words. I recognize the weaving of the bowls and even offer to help them weave some. The technique is similar to the one we use in District 4. It's just more proof that these people are similar to those in Panem; to me.

I do as I am told and give the speech to the Tribe's people. They all look so eager to hear what I have to say though I know they cannot understand a word of it. All the time, I am aware of the constant presence of General Hawthorne and his military. Their guns are always pointing at me whether I can see them or not.

Part of me wonders what will happen if I do stand up to it all and they shoot me dead. Would I be remembered as a hero or a traitor?

The following day, I try to add some sugar to the sour purple berries but a girl of about seventeen stops me, frantically speaking to me in words I do not understand.

"The sugar takes the nutrition out of the berries," Jem says as though he is translating for her. I frown at him, my question written on my face, but he just shrugs. "Well, it makes sense. They grow all this sugar but they never use it on the berries so I just guessed."

He seems to have gotten the right idea though as the girl smiles at him and walks away from us. I watch her go, realizing she is within the age range for the Hunger Games.

"It's a bit weird isn't it?" Jem asks me as we sit in the shadow of the large leaves. "I mean, I thought they would be, I don't know, different?"

"They are different," I disagree. "But they're still…"

"Like us," Jem finishes frowning.

I had been going to say 'human' but Jem's definition is a lot more frightening and personal; 'like us'.

We leave Tribe 1 to the waves of the Tribe's people. They call up to us in unusual words of departing as I wave down, a smile plastered on my face. The camera crew film everything and are going over the footage on the hovercraft as we fly away to Tribe 2.

"That was a nice place wasn't it?" Katrina gushes as she sits next to me. I keep staring out of the window, marveling at how small the land looks and how blue the sea is. "I think they'll make for very interesting tributes by the time the Games come around."

"How long do you think it will take?" I ask, "Until they have an arena ready?"

"Oh they've had arenas in the making for years now," Katrina tells me off-handedly. I stare at her, shocked that Plutarch did not inform me of this.

"You mean they've been planning this for a long time then?" I ask.

"Oh yes," Katrina says nodding enthusiastically, unaware of my horror. "Arenas aren't built in a day you know." Then she giggles and skips along the aisle to sit and chat with Blie – who seems just as enthusiastic about the Games as her. Anton sits beside them both with Jem; the two of them are inspecting their camera equipment.

The next month is pretty much the same. We travel from Tribe to Tribe, experiencing their cultures but at the same time knowing we are not here to bring good news.

Tribe 2 grows a lot of fruit and their oranges taste better than the ones found in Panem. The sudden downpour of Tribe 3 is a shock to the system after the sunny climate of 1 and 2. Despite the rain, the locals make us welcome with the little food they have. Not much grows in Tribe 3. I didn't want to take anything at first but Jem insisted it would be rude to refuse them. Tribe 4 brings back memories of sitting in Jorge and Dana's bakery as they give us samples of all the breads they make. Jorge and Dana had been right; there is no ocean in Tribe 4. Tribe 5 treat us to the finest beer I have ever tasted.

As we went through the Tribes I started to notice how little they had to offer. The only things that defined them were the food they grew and the words they spoke. They have nothing compared to what the people of Panem have. I begin to realize just how appealing the world of Panem would seem to them. By the time we land in Tribe 6, I'm aching to go home.

Tribe 6 specializes in rice. We have so much rice in the Capitol that I didn't expect much of a difference but this rice was good as was the sauce they used. I wish I could have understood them so I could take the recipes back to Panem. I wonder if any of the Tribe's people live in Panem and have opened up a restaurant like Jorge and Dana opened up a bakery. Tribe 7 has to be one of my favorites. Where they lacked food and technology, they made up for in games and dance. I watched and laughed as Jem got dragged into the dancing crowd of people, drums and cloths. Tribe 8 has to be the most advanced. They live individually instead of as a Tribe. Each has their own land and lives in their own homes which are sturdier than any of the huts I'd seen in the other Tribes. Sometimes they even let their people be homeless on the streets. They are the most like Panem. Tribe 9 can only be described as a warrior breeding ground. The people there are so well built and they have to be tough to brave the freezing weather conditions. I can imagine them going far in the Games. Despite the different words we use, I thought they were the most enthusiastic when I made my announcement. Tribe 10 was a nice one to finish with. They spoke most of the same words and lived by the blue ocean. I even 'surfed' with them; something I'd never seen done before.

Tribes 3 and 10 understood most of what I was talking about when it came to the Games. They were the most difficult to face. Some were happy, some were curious but none of them protested. Even Tribe 8 – with its fancy three storey homes – lacked when it came to education. All these people knew was that they needed each other to survive; the fact that two of their teenagers would be going in instead of just one cheered them up. They liked the idea of winning a place in Panem. They liked the idea of their country being represented.

As I board the hovercraft home, I ponder on whether their views will have changed this time next year.


	7. Seven

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

7

Plutarch applauds me when we meet up in the conference room.

"If I'm honest, some of the Capitol's people were against the idea at first," he tells me. "But they came round to it eventually. The footage you shot around the world helped. Tell me, did you really enjoy it? Or was that all part of your job?"

I glare at him but keep my opinions to myself. Two guards still stand on either side of me as I sit facing the President who sits behind a large desk. They clearly don't trust me enough yet.

Plutarch walks around me, going over how well I did and how he thinks I've finally come around to their way of thinking. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.

"I did what you asked," I say eventually, wanting them to know they don't have full control over me yet. "And now I want to ask a favor."

Plutarch stops where he was in mid-stride behind the chair which President Plutarch occupies. "Oh, really?" he asks, tapping his lips with his index finger. "And what might this favor be?"

"I want a break," I say, annoyed at how desperate I suddenly sound. I need to get away from it though, away from the Capitol and their evil ways of thinking that I now know will never be changed.

"No rest for the wicked," Plutarch tells me. I shiver.

"I think the boy deserves a rest," Paylor speaks up for the first time. I look at her in surprise, I never had expected her to be on my side over anything. "We'll need him fully rested by the time the Games come around."

"He can't stay out of the media for six months!" Plutarch cries. I cringe as I realize how close the Games actually are. In six months some of the people I met over the previous weeks could be fighting to the death.

"Not the entire time," Paylor tells him, sounding annoyed. "But he deserves to get away from it all."

"Where would he go?" Plutarch demands, "A secret underground basement?"

"I have a suggestion," General Hawthorne speaks up. He is guarding the door in case I make a break for it. Apparently they must think visiting the Tribes has affected me deeply enough to think I have a chance of getting out of all this.

"What is it, General?" Paylor asks. She seems relieved though it's hard to tell through her hard stare. I think she didn't know what to do with me either.

"How about a visit to District 12?" the General asks. "I'm sure a few words from Katniss Everdeen can't do him much harm."

I freeze at her name. The leader of the Revolutionary War – Nurse Everdeen's _daughter._ I look to Paylor desperately. For some reason, Katniss is the last person I want to see. When we learned about her in school she had always struck me as a very frightening person. She had only been seventeen during the War which meant she had to be a very respected and strong character. I imagine her as Paylor only younger and worse.

"That might actually do him some good," Paylor mumbles as if she is talking to herself.

"No it wouldn't!" Plutarch protests. He looks panicked and I don't blame him. Katniss went against the Hunger Games. The very Hunger Games that he is trying to bring back. Of course he doesn't think it's a good idea. So why does Paylor?

"I am the authority here," Paylor fires at Plutarch, "And I say that Fin deserves to take a few days off to rest in District 12. He will return in two weeks and start prepping for interviews. Am I clear?" She looks at both of us. We are shocked into silence at her sudden anger but I understand. Plutarch is acting like _he_ is President. She must feel like she's losing control. I know the feeling.

Still, I couldn't help but take notice in what she was saying. "Interviews?" I ask. "What more do you want me to do? I advertised the Games like you said!"

"But you're our mascot," Plutarch tells me, taking over. "You can't just stop now or it will ruin the flow. We need you to be commenting on everything that's going on during the Games so you'll be having an interview with Flickerman every night."

"Why?" I ask. This sort of thing was not done before.

"Most of the tributes don't speak our words," Plutarch explains. "That means we won't be able to have the tribute interviews so you will make up for that."

My face…on television…every night. It's not like I'm not used to it but it will be a different thing now. Instead of making people laugh I will be discussing the deaths of the Tribe's people like they are nothing.

Well, at least they're not from Panem.

Automatically, my hands clench into fists at that thought. No matter what the government or the people of Panem think, they are still people like us. Well, maybe they're not monsters like our government but I can't afford to forget that they are human beings. It's all I've got to cling on to.

"Go now," Paylor tells me. "You can catch the next train to District 12. I want you to report here in two weeks."

"Thank you," I find myself saying though, as I am escorted out the room by General Hawthorne and his soldiers, I wish I hadn't bothered.

(*)

People stare at me as the General and I wait for the train. An older woman dragging a heavy suitcase passed us looks disappointed, a man looks almost respectful as he catches our eye from where he waits by the ticket booth, and two young girls giggle shyly as they point at me and hurry by us.

But nobody looks repulsed. Everybody seems to have accepted what I now stand for. I don't know whether to be relieved or angry. At least nobody hates me but it also shows how accepting these people are of bringing back the Hunger Games. Maybe the young girls don't know what they are yet but surely the man knew of the pain they brought.

Our train comes to a stop at the station and I hurry to board it. We have three carriages; my room, the General's room and a dining and sitting carriage. Most people travel like this now. The trains that were once only used for escorting tributes from their Districts have been expanded thanks to District 3 and now carry hundreds of passengers all across Panem.

Instead of sitting in the sitting carriage, I pace the floor, anxious for the train to start moving. General Hawthorne sits reading the paper, watching me. "You need to calm down, Fin," he tells me, looking slightly amused. "All that pacing will wear a hole in the floor."

"How do you know Nurse Everdeen?" I demand. He looks as surprised as I feel. The question had been bothering me for the past month now but I'd never really found time to ask it. I want to know why the pair of them were so uncomfortable around one another.

"We told you," he says carefully. "We knew each other back in District 12."

"So you're both from District 12," I say. "Do you still keep in touch?" I ask.

"No," he says definitely. "After the war, she went her way and I went mine. Just like Katniss went her own way."

"You must have known Katniss too then," I say. "Why did Nurse Everdeen never tell me she had a daughter?"

"That's not my story to tell, Fin," he sighs.

"What happened to her other daughter?" I press.

"Again, not my story," he says, this time through gritted teeth.

"So what can you tell me, General?" I ask. "Because I'm beginning to feel like there's a lot more going on than I first thought."

We're both silent for a moment before the General indicates the seat opposite him over the table. I sit as he instructs and he takes a deep breath. "Okay, first of all, since you and I are going to be together for a long time now I'd prefer it if you'd call me Gale."

I cock an eyebrow in surprise. "Really?" I ask. "Isn't that disrespectful to all you military folk?"

Gale laughs a proper deep booming laugh. "We're still human you know," he reminds me jokingly, but his words remind me of the people in the Tribes.

"Why are you being nice?" I ask all of a sudden, thinking back to him helping to convince the President and Plutarch I needed a break. "I thought you hated me."

"I only hate those who are a threat," Gale corrects me. "And, let's face it; you're not much of one with those skinny arms." I don't say anything and he sighs deeply. "Besides, I owe it to Finnick."

My heart skips a beat at him mentioning my father's name. It's the last thing I expected him to say. Why would somebody like General Gale Hawthorne owe my father?

Gale sees my expression and cocks his head to the side, looking at me almost sympathetically he asks, "What do you know about your father, Fin?"

I swallow loudly and look at my hands clasped on the table. "Not much," I admit. "Nurse Everdeen didn't know much about him and it upset my mother to mention him."

"I don't think Annie would have known anyway," Gale mumbles almost to himself.

"Known what?" I ask.

"How he died."

I feel my whole body freeze and root to the spot. I never found out how my father died. It wasn't something I liked to think about and it certainly isn't now. I'd come to accept long ago that I might never find out. My father died in the Revolutionary War along with so many others. There was no need to go into specifics about their deaths. Until now.

Now I want to know.

"What happened?" I ask, surprised to find my voice a little choked.

Gale frowns and looks at me. I get the feeling he is trying to gauge my reaction, to see if I can take what he has to say. I feel the lump in my throat return. I grasp my hands together to stop them from shaking. I've never cried over my father but now I just might.

"We were on a mission in the Capitol," he tells me. I look at his face with the vicious scar running down the left side. He has the perfect look to tell this kind of story. "Circumstances had forced us to retreat underground, and that was when they found us."

I try to picture it in my head, being in the dark sewers of the Capitol. My palms sweat with fear just thinking about it. I've never liked the dark.

"The Capitol sent mutts after us."

I gasp. "As in mutations?" I ask, remembering covering the topic back in school. The images they'd shown on the board had been enough to give me nightmares for weeks.

"Yes," Gale nods grimly. "We lost most of the crew that day," he continues, his good eye glazed over as he remembers. "When it came down to it, Katniss, Peeta and a couple of others were climbing up the ladder to get out."

"What were they like?" I ask before I can stop myself, "The…mutts?" I don't really want to know but I'm scared of what else Gale is going to say if he carries on with his story.

"Like lizards," he answers, disgust written all over his face, "Lizards crossed with something that looked human." I swallow back vomit. "They were so strong," he mumbles. Blinking, he returns to the present and continues, still regarding me with sympathy. "I was left with Finnick at the bottom of the ladder," he sighs. "There was so much confusion and so little time that I can only remember him pushing me up the ladder. He wanted me to get out first."

I blink furiously. It's too much to imagine the kind of fear that must have been racing through both of them. I can't even think what that would have been like or I'll either cry or vomit.

"One of them snagged my neck," he continues, now lost in his train of thought. Absent-mindedly, he reaches up and traces the bottom of his neck with his fingers. I wonder if he can feel the pain there now. "Katniss managed to pull me up but…" He trails off.

"You couldn't save him," I finish for him, surprised at how steady and accepting my voice sounds.

Gale shakes his head. "They'd already gotten to him."

"What did they do?"

He looks at me, a faraway look in his eyes. I get the feeling he's not seeing me, but somebody else.

"You don't need to know that, Fin," he tells me confidently.

I take a deep breath through my nose and close my eyes, trying to absorb this information without having a total breakdown. My father had saved Gale's life but had lost his own in doing so. Part of me feels I should hate the man in front of me but another part tells me that maybe he hates himself enough for the both of us.

"I think my mother knew," I say out of the blue. Gale tears his gaze away from the corner of the room, no doubt lost again in some awful memory. "Not the full story obviously," I continue, "But whenever I mentioned the mutts she'd put her hands over her ears and starting mumbling to herself."

I remember being six years old when that first happened. I'd just begun learning of the evils of the Capitol and told her about my learning of the mutts in my recount of the day. She'd dropped the bowl of bread dough she had been about to knead. I remember the smashing of the clay as it hit the tiles, the eruption of dust which – when cleared – revealed my mother, rocking back and forth in distress.

"Annie was a strange one," Gale's words break me out of my memory. I look at him sharply, suddenly feeling the need to defend my mother. "I don't mean that in a bad way, Fin," he tells me quickly. "I mean, she was a good strange one. Finnick seemed to be the only one who could really keep her…sane." I try not to take offense at the truth. "When she lost him, we all thought she'd…well….she'd…"

"She did," I remind him, clenching my eyes shut in an attempt not to think of that fateful day on the beach.

"No," Gales says shaking his head. "She held on for eight years, Fin. I thought she'd…gotten over it." I grit my teeth at his choice of words but keep my opinions to myself. "When I found out she'd…done what she'd done, I couldn't believe it."

"I can," I say defiantly, glaring at him, "I was there."

He looks at me, sees I'm in discomfort and sighs. To say anything more would put what little comradeship we had obtained into jeopardy. So he says, "I'm sorry, Fin," and retreats to his carriage.

I watch him go, imagining what my life would be like had my father gotten to the ladder first. If Gale had died instead of Finnick then how different would my life be? My mother would probably still be here too. I might never have gotten into acting because she wouldn't need me to pretend to be my father so much. I'd be in District 4, perhaps married to a local girl and have my own stall in the square.

The government would never have gotten me.

But what if they had anyway? I know how relentless they can be. Surely, I not being in the Capitol would never have stopped them. They wanted me because I was the son of two victors and even having those victors alive wouldn't have changed that. They'd probably want me even more.

So I'd still be here, only without Gale. My parents would be alive and they would be so ashamed of me. They'd have probably disowned me by now.

Maybe it's for the best it worked out this way.

The next day, Gale and I sit at the table again. This time in silence as we eat the food we had delivered to our carriage. Gale had answered the door when she'd knocked, saying I'd make her faint or squeal and ask for an autograph. He was only joking but I'd still cringed when he'd brought it up. I'd never been a fan of that side of my job. I could never understand how someone could fawn over a person they didn't even know.

Eventually I can't stand the silence anymore.

"Do you have a family?" I ask. Last night, as I lay in bed, it struck me that Gale knew almost everything there is to know about me yet I knew so little of him. It annoyed me.

"I do," Gale nods, putting down his bread he was about to dip into his broth. "They're back in District 2 though save for my daughter – she's in the Capitol."

"When was the last time you saw them?" I ask.

"I saw my wife and sons a couple of months ago," he says. "But I managed to say goodbye to my daughter before we left for District 12."

"What's her name?" I ask. I don't really care but I want to know as much about Gale as I can. I want to hear all about his daughter whom, without the sacrifice of my father, would never even be here.

"Madison," Gale replies. "She works in the military."

"How old is she?" I ask, surprised.

"Nineteen," he says, looking at me suspiciously. "Don't go getting any ideas," he warns, half-joking – I think.

"I won't," I say, mildly offended, mildly relieved that we can joke together. "I was just surprised I hadn't seen her."

"She's in training," Gale tells me. "She's going to be coaching a tribute when they get picked in six months."

"Oh," I say. "That must be…difficult."

"It is," Gale says, slightly defensive. "She doesn't like this anymore than the rest of us."

"So who really wants these Games?" I ask. "Don't people remember the upset they caused twenty-odd years ago?"

"Of course they do," Gale nods. "But think about it. The Capitol people also remember how interesting and entertaining they were. They were like an annual celebration for them. The government needs a way to control the immigration issues. This way, not only will they greatly limit the amount of people coming into the country but the Games will throw the Tribe's people off, giving them time to set up more Guardians along the coasts of the country. And the District people are just happy that they're not the ones being picked. They're not really people you know."

"How can you say that?" I ask, remembering the feel of the little Tribe 1 girl in my arms as she stroked my hair. "You saw them."

"I also saw their lack of education," Gale says. "If anything, they'll think these Games to be a good thing; a time to show what they can do and earn a better life. If this keeps the government happy then by all means I'll take it."

I glare at him for a few seconds, contemplating what he has said. I can't help but find myself understanding – if not agreeing – with his viewpoint. Disgusted with myself, I abandon my food and Gale at the table. I spend the rest of the two days journey in my room with loads of time to think. I think of Nurse Everdeen alone in District 4, I think of Britney and how she betrayed me, I think how stupid I am for signing that contract, I think of Plutarch and how I once thought of him as a friend. But most of all I think of my father spending his last moments trapped in the dark underground. Did he know about me when he went off to fight? Did he know my mother was pregnant?

(*)

District 12 is a lot smaller than I had first thought it to be. Gale tells me they never expanded after the War. I knew from History class that the place had been bombed and so few had returned. But, walking through the streets, I can tell this is still a close-knit community. People have good jobs now in the medicine factory. Thanks to District 3 and their genius minds, coal is no longer needed and the mines are a thing of the past.

People stare as I walk past them with Gale on our way to Katniss' home. I don't know whether they recognize me from television or they recognize Gale from their community. I choose to keep my head down instead of asking.

Katniss lives in what was once known as the Victor's Village of District 12 just like I grew up in the old Victor's Village of District 4. Two children sit on the grass outside the house; a girl with dark hair and a blond boy. They are picking flowers off the bushes that line the garden and tying them together with string. I wonder if they will trade them at the market or if they just want them for decoration.

They look up when they see us. The girl gasps and runs inside. The boy watches her, a frown etched upon his face before he notices us. He grins up at Gale and me, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Hello," he says, toddling over to us. "Who are you?"

"Martox!" a woman's cry erupts from the previously peaceful house. The little boy frowns and turns to look at the source of the noise.

A woman stands in the open doorway of the house; the young girl is next to her. They look almost identically save for the burns that cover the older woman's face and arms.

Katniss Everdeen.

"Katniss-" Gale begins as she marches towards us, trying to reason with her.

I stand rooted to the ground as she storms over to me, her face twisted in anger, and punches me in the face.


	8. Eight

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

8

When I come to after the punch in the nose, I realize I am sat on a comfortable couch in a warm room. My vision is slightly hazy but I'm aware of a fire crackling and raised voices in another room, perhaps the kitchen. Martox is sat on the carpet, looking up at me with wide grey eyes. I become aware my nose is clogged with tissues.

"Hey," I grumble to him. He still stares at me. I've never been around kids much so I'm not sure how to act. Maybe play hide-and-seek? The thought of getting off the couch makes my head throb even more than before.

"My mommy punched you in the face," he says, giggling. "Why did she do that?"

"Because Finnick Odair Jr. is a traitor who doesn't even deserve to share the name of his father," Katniss answers her son. I jump, having not realized she had walked into the room, and her words sting.

"Katniss," another man walks in, sharing the same blond hair as Martox. He puts an arm around her. "Come on; let's get you out of here for a bit."

"No," Katniss says stubbornly, taking a seat on the couch opposite me. "I want to hear what this scumbag has to say for himself, Peeta."

_Peeta. _

I watch the man respond to the name. So this is Peeta Mellark, the other half of the star-crossed love story that kicked off the Rebellion which led to the Revolutionary War. Were they…together? All the History classes told us was that Katniss has been banished to District 12 for the assassination of President Coin and that Peeta had returned because it was his home.

"Katniss!" Peeta cries. "Not in front of our son!" He picks Martox up, swinging him in the air before balancing him on his hip. Martox giggles and buries his face in his father's neck.

I am surprised by the surge of jealousy that grips me when I see them together. To take my mind off it, I look at Katniss. Big mistake. She is glaring at me. The burn scars on her face add to the menace of her stare.

As soon as Peeta leaves the room with Martox, she kicks off.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she screams at me. I sit frozen to the sofa. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"That's what Nurse Everdeen said," I mumble. I'd meant for only me to hear it but by the look on Katniss' face it's clear she had heard it too.

"Everdeen?" she mutters. "Do you mean…?" Her trailing off leads me to realize she thinks I'm referring to her mother.

"Your mother," I say, nodding.

Slowly, as if in shock, she sinks back down onto the chair she had just vacated in her anger. "You know my mother?" she asks, as though she is in a trance.

"Yes," I say quickly, glad to have distracted her. She seems so shocked and lost that I almost feel guilty, but for a second there with her standing over me I had actually feared for my life. "She practically raised me."

Katniss looks at me, her eyes hollow of any emotion. She looks so drained, so tired. I can only begin to imagine the hardships she has faced in her life and even then I know I will not come close to the truth.

"What happened to you, Fin?" she asks.

I'm surprised she knows my name but I know right now is not the time to ask her questions. If I want to keep her calm and keep myself alive, I need to answer her and keep her happy.

"My mother committed suicide," I say numbly. I have never said those words aloud in that context before. A part of me crumbles and I feel my shoulders hunch as though I'm trying to hide from the rest of the world. I blink fast, refusing to let the tears get the better of me. I cannot cry now; crying is a weakness.

"Annie…" Katniss whispers in a voice so gentle and melodic it doesn't match with her harrowed face. "I didn't know."

"She couldn't take living without…my father," I say. "I was eight years old."

I look up to find her looking down on me with what looks like sympathy. I tell myself I'm wrong. Just a few minutes ago she had been on the verge of killing me, yet now she looks at me with an almost motherly expression. It's hard to believe this woman led the Rebellion; how time changes people.

"Nurse Everdeen – your mother – brought me up," I finish, explaining why I know her mother.

Katniss cocks her head to one side and smiles. "A boy," she mutters, almost to herself. "That must have been new for her."

"How do you mean?" I ask.

"She only ever had daughters," she pauses; I can hear her talking around a lump in her throat. After swallowing hard, she says, "She must have been at a loss with what to do with you. No hair to braid for a start." I smile with her, feeling ourselves becoming connected.

"How did they get you?" she asks. I don't need to ask to know who she means.

"I was working in the Capitol," I explain, "As an actor."

"I know that much," she interrupts, smiling. "Rosie thinks you're very funny by the way."

I assume by Rosie, she means the brown-haired girl from the front garden – her daughter. I think back to when she had seen us and had run inside to her mother. Was it to tell her about two strangers? Or to tell her the famous Fin Odair had turned up in the neighborhood? I think it might be the latter; she wouldn't have cared about two strangers; she wouldn't have the same sense of wariness and fear that her mother's generation has. Rosie is an Innocent – like me.

"They trapped me," I continue, feeling ashamed. "They've got me at gunpoint twenty four hours a day." I look pointedly to the door which leads to the hallway and through to the kitchen. Katniss looks with me and I can see it all come together in her head.

"Gale is your guard," she realizes. "Oh, Fin, what have you done?" This time her voice is full of despair, and I feel terrible for being the one to make her sound so hopeless.

"I'm sorry, Miss. Everdeen," I say.

"Mellark," she corrects me. "It's Mrs. Mellark."

"You married?" I ask, surprised. None of the textbooks say she married Peeta but, then again, the textbooks only went up to when she was banished. Nobody wants to hear about the broken Mockingjay serving her sentence for murdering the President.

"He finally wore me down," she says, her District accent thick. I smile with her again.

"Do you think there's any hope?" I ask her. "Will there always be a government like this?"

"Probably," she says it like she's given up, as though she accepted such a fact a long time ago. "Though Plutarch surprised me," she goes on, before catching me eye and saying, "As did you."

My heart sinks as I realize I have not earned her friendship. What I am seeing is a fragile woman going through so many emotions she can't be bothered keeping her guard up. She hates me. I don't think I will ever be able to change that nor do I think I deserve to.

"You deserve this," she says before getting up and punching me to the floor.

I'm not knocked out this time but instead pain flares up legs and in my head. She starts pounding me with her fists. My vision becomes red and blurry. My eyelids are heavy. As she starts to kick me in the gut, I begin to fear for my life. I wonder where Gale is. The Capitol needs me alive don't they?

Unless it was all part of Gale's plan. Maybe he'd suggested District 12 because he knew this would be Katniss' reaction. He hates me for signing the contract and bringing him into this for my protection. He wants me dead.

With that being my final thought, I black out.

(*)

It hurts more to come round this time, and it takes me longer to work out my surroundings. The room is brown; I'm lying in a bed; the bed is comfortable; my head hurts. Little tidbits of information come to me one by one until, after a few minutes, I'm left with the full picture of what is going on.

I guess I am in a guestroom in Katniss' home. The light brown walls match what little I saw of the hallway. They have the same rich and polished look as the rest of the house too. Upon the walls, hang paintings of the countryside. The green hues match well with the walls. I feel as though I'm lying in a forest. It's peaceful but I don't like it for a number of reasons.

One, I'm from District 4, I want to be in a room painted blue with paintings of colorful fish and deep green reeds. Two, my whole body hurts and I'm dreading the fact I will most likely need to move soon. And three, I'm still alive. Clearly Katniss didn't do a thorough job and, being in her house, I'm scared she will come back and finish what she's started.

For a split second, as I lay being beaten on the floor, I thought of how nice death sounded. I wouldn't have to deal with the Games, the Capitol, the responsibility. I could close my eyes and not come back. Maybe I'd see my mother again, meet my father. Who knows?

That last bit pulls me up short. I don't want them to see what I've done. I can't die yet. I need to make this right.

The door opens and I flinch, crying out as pain erupts throughout my body like flame licking my veins. Gale stands there, looking guilty. He's not alone. A small woman with long red hair rushes through the doorway behind him and over to me. She's a nurse and I want to kiss her when she adds more morphling to my system.

"Just you rest now," she tells me, patting my arm. She knows how gentle she has to be so she comforts me without hurting. Forget it, I want to marry her. But there are more important matters to attend to now.

Suddenly I'm aware I'm half-blind. Surprised I didn't notice this before, I blink a dozen times just to check. Sure enough, a bandage covers my left eye. Still, I won't let it distract me from what I need to do.

"What the hell was that about?" I scream at him. "I thought you were supposed to protect me you bastard!"

He doesn't even flinch but tells me threateningly, "Shut up. There are children in this house and a lady beside you."

"It's alright with me," the red-head drawls. "He's got every right to shout as far as I'm concerned. What those people in the Capitol made him do, and now Mrs. Mellark beating him to a pulp." She's going to have my babies.

"Stop trying to score points, Hanya," Gale tells her. "Remove his pain and get out."

"There's a lady beside me," I mock him, reminding him he's being rude.

Hanya takes it all in her stride, checks my drips which I'm suddenly aware of beside my bed, and leaves the room in silence.

"Explain," I demand. The morphling is making me a bit woozy but I need to know what the hell is going on. If he and Katniss want me dead then why am I still here?

"Katniss did you a favor," he tells me.

There's a pause before a burst out laughing. "Yeah, thanks," I say. "Now I'm in a good mood, tell me what really happened."

Ignoring me, Gale takes a seat on a chair beside my bed. I've just noticed that's there too. God, what is wrong with my head?

"You're suffering from concussion," Gale says as though he is reading my mind. "You've been signed off sick for five months."

I wait for this news to make sense. It doesn't so I wait for him to go on.

"Katniss has just given you an excuse to have five months away from work," Gale tells me. "Five months away from the Capitol on condition that you stay in District 12."

"Great," I say, sarcastic. "I'm sure I'm welcome here."

"You are," Gale tells me nonchalantly. "You'll be out of bed within a week, and off crutches in two months. That gives you three months of total relaxation."

"And forgetting who I am and where I'm supposed to piss," I remind him.

Gale gives me a small smile. "Hanya may have over-exaggerated your injuries to Plutarch a little bit."

I blink at him, surprised. He places an almost fatherly hand on my shoulder. It hurts a little but I don't complain – I wouldn't want to marry him anyway.

"We're all on your side," he says.

Gale is right. In two months I'm as good as new and enjoying life with the Mellark family. Rosie and Martox take me to the meadow everyday where – as soon as I was off crutches – they forced me into playing tag.

Okay, 'forced' is a strong word. I enjoyed playing with them. It felt good to let my guard down and act like I was innocent again. People stared. I let them. I didn't care.

"We named him after Peeta's father you know," Katniss tells me conversationally as she holds a sleeping Martox in her arms. Rosie is curled up next to her. It's been three months since she hit me and the pair of us are sat in the living room. The television is off because we don't want to wake the children. The silence is soothing to my still-sore head.

"I didn't know," I say, unsure what to add.

"He was killed in the bombing," she explains, stroking a curl of blond hair away from her son's face. "He was a good man."

"What about Rosie?" I ask.

Katniss freezes and looks down at the sleeping girl. I know straight away I shouldn't have asked; that I've struck a nerve.

"My sister," she says numbly. I know she means she named her daughter after her sister but the meaning I get from her chills me to the bone. She uses the voice I use whenever somebody asks me about my mother.

"What happened?" I ask.

"She died." The words catch in Katniss' throat and I know I'm seeing something very rare. After living with Katniss for weeks now, I know she's not an easy person to break. Yet mentioning her sister is enough to make me realize I have to be gentle with her.

"What was her name?"

"Primrose." I can tell it's been a while since she's said her name out loud. I think if she talks about it, it might make her feel better. I start off small.

"Why don't you just call her Rose then?"

Katniss almost throws Martox down onto the sofa as she flees the room. I'm left sitting there, as stunned as Martox who begins to stare as soon as he leaves his mother's arms. Rosie wakes too.

I snap out of my shock quickly to soothe the pair of them. I like being round the children. It's nice to be around other Innocents.

As I stroke Rosie's hair to put her back to sleep, her name suddenly hits me. But it's not just her name, it's part of a memory; a memory that seems hundreds of years away now.

"_We'll just have to find somebody else won't we? I'm sure we can hold out long enough until Rosie is ready."_

Plutarch's voice rings loud and clear as I stare down at Rosie. With her closed eyes and button nose, she is the face of innocence. And the child of two victors. I kiss her forehead. At least she is one life I save whilst doing this. I'll keep that in mind when I watch the twenty teenagers fighting to death because of me. Two months to go.

Despite me being in the house for five months, I discovered next to nothing about Katniss' life before the war. I never found out about her relationship with her mother either – she seemed as reluctant to talk about her as she did her sister.

And I still wasn't so sure she had beaten me up for _my _own good.

Peeta opened up about life in the bakery and his paintings, but he was adamant about not discussing Katniss' life. Gale even kept his distance too. Peeta told me he and Katniss were catching up on things but I was surprised to find myself hurt that Gale wasn't checking up on me.

The fact that he'd opened up to me on the train here combined with the way he'd put his hand on my shoulder when he declared they were on my side had made me think our relationship would be different. I want Gale to help me out of this situation. I want him to be my friend when Britney betrayed me and Juppy disowned me.

The only time he truly speaks to me is the night before we're due back to travel to the Capitol. He's going over what will happen when I arrive back. We leave early in the morning so I've already said goodbye to Peeta, Katniss and the children. They're sleeping now as we sit at the kitchen table.

I'm trying to listen to Gale but my mind is still replaying Rosie's goodbye.

"Fin," she had said to me after giving me a hug. "When you get back to the Capitol are you going to make me laugh again?" I hadn't wanted to lie to her and I knew she was talking about the show; my acting. Something I know I will never get the chance to do again.

Still, I didn't want to upset her either. I promised her I would try.

"Fin?" Gale's voice brings me back to the present. "Are you listening?"

"What?" I ask.

He sighs, exasperated. "I said when we get back to the Capitol," he smiles, "There's somebody I want you to meet."


	9. Nine

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**PART 2**

**THE REBEL**

9

My mood darkens as we ride the train back to the Capitol. I find myself wishing I'd had an extra few months off. Then I begin wishing I was never part of this Hell in the first place. Gale told me he'd checked on Nurse Everdeen and said she was doing well. I feel guilty that I didn't bother to do it myself. Once we reach the Capitol, Plutarch has me rushed towards the Television Building where I am introduced to the Military Team who are preparing to train the Tributes from the Tribes.

There's just a mere week that separates us from the Reaping. The Reaping. There's a phrase I never thought I would have to use.

I go through a line of people; all well-built with hard expressions. It's clear they've been trained to act neutral and calm all the time. I almost envy them until I remember what task lies ahead of them. They all wear the dark green that is District 2's color because everybody knows the military comes from District 2 whether its soldiers were born there or they moved there. Their faces don't stick to memory nor do their names except one.

She stands the third in line; the female trainer for Tribe 2. Her light brown hair is scraped back into a harsh bun but the familiarity of her grey eyes is hard to miss.

"Madison Hawthorne, Sir," she introduces herself whilst shaking my hand. A small smile slips from her lips. She's young, I can tell not just with the slight slip of her guard but by her face. General Gale Hawthorne's daughter.

I think of her all the way through the rest of the line.

Once the introductions are out of the way, we are led to a large room where we are expected to mingle with each other. I weave through the crowds to find Gale. He seems to be looking for me.

"My daughter," he says proudly. "Madison Hawthorne. Can you believe it?" He sounds slightly drunk and he is, if the almost empty glass he holds is anything to go by. "Only nineteen and already she's doing so well."

His last comment strikes a nerve. I can see how proud he is but I can't help but respond the way I do. "So well?" I repeat, my blood boiling. "So well? You think her training kids to fight to the death is her doing well?"

Gale blanches for a moment. He looks shocked but I can see it fading quickly and anger setting in. I can't help it though. I continue before he has the chance to stop me.

"I can't believe you'd be so proud of your daughter for taking part in this!" I cry. The guards descend on me then, grabbing my arms and hauling me out of the room. I let them take me this time.

I've only been in the Capitol a day and already I want the guards to take me away from it all.

I'm kept in what feels like a cell until the little party is over. I try not to think of anything but it turns out that that's impossible. I think of my mother and how ashamed she'd be if she knew what I was being part of. I think of how proud Gale is of his daughter despite him knowing what she is willingly being part of. Either I've misunderstood something or Gale Hawthorne is seriously sick.

The door to my cell creaks open. I realize I can't really call it a cell. Not when I sit in a comfortable armchair with carpet beneath my feet and a private toilet stall to my right.

Gale steps in and shuts the door behind him. He doesn't lock it but I immediately know I'm in trouble. He could kill me with his bare hands if he wanted. At that moment, I wouldn't even mind. But I know he won't. The Games are too close to find another representative. Maybe they won't need one at all now they've won the public over to their sick ideas.

Gale takes a seat in the identical armchair next to mine. I've spent the last few hours wondering why there were two of them here.

"Listen, Fin," he begins. His voice is calm which both surprises and upsets me. I grip the arms of my chair so tightly my knuckles turn white. He watches me as if calculating. "I know it's been a hard year for you," he continues. "But you need to understand that this is it."

"What's it?" I ask. I have no idea what he's referring to.

"This life," Gale answers. "The Games. This is it. It's all real and it's not going to go away just because you spit your dummy out of the pram every now and again."

I don't trust myself to speak. He gives me an approving nod.

"I'm not as dumb as you think I am." The change in conversation surprises me and I loosen my grip on the chair. "I know these Games will kill people but I grew up in a time when the Capitol were a lot stricter than this. Even after the Revolutionary War I knew things wouldn't stay the way they were. The Capitol will always go back to its bloodthirsty roots."

"That's why you joined the military," I realize, piecing everything together.

"Exactly," Gale nods approvingly. "I knew I needed to be ready for when they returned to their old ways."

"Then why didn't you try to run for power?" I ask. "If you were made President then you could control it all. It could be like you wanted – with no Hunger Games."

Gale pauses for a moment. I accept he isn't going to say what he is thinking but, surprisingly, he does. "I would never have gotten into power," he tells me. "And even if I had done, this probably would have happened anyway."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"President Paylor doesn't want this either but the country needs it," Gale explains. "In a different universe, the situation would have forced me to do the same as what she did. And besides, the Capitol changes you."

"You're talking crap," I bark at him, getting up and walking around the room. I feel restless. I can't stay still.

"I don't think I am," Gale disagrees, shaking his head. "You haven't seen enough of this world yet, Fin."

"Oh don't go all granddaddy on me!" I yell.

The cell door opens again to reveal two more guards. They scan the scene, guns pointing at me. I feel the fight leave me instantly and I collapse back into the armchair, exhausted.

"Is this the part where I have to apologize now?" I grumble before realizing I sound like a little kid.

To my surprise Gale laughs. "Not if you don't mean it," he tells me, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's get you home. Use this week to relax at your place. You've got a lot of hard times coming up."

The Reaping comes too soon.

Alcohol had been banned from my apartment and I had a guard outside my door twenty-four hours a day. Gale had told me to relax yet they might as well have left me in the cell for all the relaxation I got that week.

I couldn't face the TV so I spent my time watching the city outside the windows. It was interesting to watch the people walk or drive by and try to imagine who they were.

I have to watch the Reaping with Plutarch and the other 'Gamemakers' in their control room at the television centre. As I watch the Tribe's people being filmed by camera crews which had flown out days previously, I can't help but wonder what they thought of it all now. Do they really think this is such a good idea? By the sounds of the roaring cheers in Tribes 8 and 9, the answer is yes. Tribes 3 and 10 are hesitant but, then again, they know our words – they know what they're being forced into.

"This is great," I hear one Gamemaker cheer as we watch a seventeen-year-old girl with black hair from Tribe 9 smile for the camera. "We get the entertainment of the Games without having to kill any real people off."

I don't have the energy to argue because in a way he's right. Or at least that's what I tell myself. These people are not from Panem. They are not like us; they are different. Although I don't agree with watching people fight to death as entertainment, I understand what the Gamemaker is saying. His accent is District 5. He grew up with the Games and yet he is still accepting – pleased, even – about these ones.

Maybe I'm the one overreacting. Maybe these Games are a good thing. It solves the immigration problem we are having; it gives people entertainment; and, as Gale was telling me a week ago, the Capitol will never change. They will always be bloodthirsty because of the Games. This way we can satisfy their thirst without giving up the real people of Panem.

Yes. It's a good thing.

In the evening, I have an interview with Flickerman. He smiles in greeting but I know we are both remembering the last time we saw each other. It seems like a lifetime ago that he was confronting me about my relationship with Britney. Now I can't believe him saying that felt like the end of the world. Having people know about my private life was nothing compared to what I'm doing now. And I'd rather not think about Britney at the moment.

"So, Fin," Flickerman begins casually. "How are you today?"

I put on my best smile like Plutarch has instructed me to and say, "Very excited. I can't believe the Games have begun already. It's amazing how fast time flies."

Flickerman continues to ask chatty questions to get the interview flowing. Plutarch has instructed him to do this because it helps to relax me and to step away from myself. I am no longer Fin Odair. I am a complete stranger who is looking forward to watching people not much younger than myself fight to the death. I have no family to be ashamed of me, and no friends who will persuade me otherwise. Plutarch was right; being an actor does help in this situation.

And finally, Flickerman gets to the question we've all been waiting for.

"So, what do you think of the Tributes, Fin?" he asks. "9F and 5M are already down as the favorites to win."

"Are they really?" I ask with fake surprise. 9F and 5M are the female from Tribe 9 and the male from Tribe 5. Since most of the Tribes do not speak the same words as us, they have been given codes. Even those from Tribes 3 and 10.

"I think 10M looks promising." I haven't been told to say this but I recognized 10M as the nineteen-year-old guy from Tribe 10 who taught me to 'surf'. He had introduced himself as Aiden. I try to forget his name now; it makes it easier on me to think of him as nothing but a code. Still, I hope my small comment gets him some sponsors.

Flickerman announces I will next be joining them in a week's time once the Games officially begin. I know I am required to comment every night on how the Tributes are doing but the thought still makes me queasy. I know this is morally wrong. Why can't anybody else see it?

On my way to my dressing room I bump into Madison.

"Oh, sorry!" she says. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

It's the first time I've seen her since my outburst at her father the previous week. I find myself, for the first time, feeling ashamed over that. I apologize to her.

"Oh, don't worry," she says, waving her hand to dismiss the matter. "You've got a lot going on right now and we don't expect you to be polite all the time."

"How about you?" I ask. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," she answers immediately, her soldier guard up in place. "I'm just preparing to train Tribute 2F. She arrives tomorrow and I need to think of the best strategies to teach her."

"All Tribe's people from 2 can climb trees," I blurt out randomly, remembering the high orange trees which supplied most of their food.

"Oh," Madison is a little surprised at my random bit of information but she composes herself and says, "Well, thanks for the information, sir, I'll let you go now." She hurries past me, suddenly keen to get away.

I don't want her to go.

"Hey!" I call after her, desperate to stall. She stops and turns, waiting patiently for me to continue. "Just…call me Fin…please," I say. She gives me a small smile but nods professionally and walks away. I watch her go, feeling slightly odd.

Madison is the first person who I feel is on equal footing with me. She has been forced to do this just like I have. She didn't look down on me like Nurse Everdeen and Katniss and her family did. She wasn't all about controlling me like Gale and Plutarch were.

I decide I like her.

Plutarch is waiting for me outside my dressing room. He claps slowly as I walk towards him.

"Marvelous show," he says. "You're going to be brilliant when the Games officially start."

"This isn't all about helping the country is it?" I suddenly ask him. "You love organizing television."

"Indeed I do," he replies, unfazed by me. "Your PA is waiting for you."

"PA?" I question. I haven't had a specific PA since I was in acting.

"Yes," Plutarch nods. "She'll be attending to your every need over the next few weeks."

I can't help but notice a slight innuendo in Plutarch's words. I realize why that was after he's walked away and I've entered my dressing room.

It's a nice dressing room, similar to the one I had back when I was on his show. Even the PA is the same.

Britney stands in the centre, hands folded neatly over her stomach, her hair is longer now; blonde ringlets down to her waist. She gives me a small smile.

"Hello, Fin," she says, halfway between confident and hesitant. "It's nice to see you again."

I don't even know what I'm doing. My head is so confused one whether the Games are right or wrong; whether the Tribe's people are real people or not; whether Plutarch assigned her on purpose to get a reaction from me.

I only realize what I'm doing when a guard bursts through the door and pulls me off her. My fists match the blood on her mouth and the stream from her nose. I wonder, as they cart me away, if they will ever get the stains out of the beige carpet.


	10. Ten

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

10

The Tributes arrive the next day. I meet them, shaking their hands just as I had done with the soldiers the previous week. They all smile at me. I notice both 2F and Madison smile at me despite the soldiers supposedly being told to remain neutral.

2F is a slim girl with dark brown hair and wide green eyes. Her words flow together so quickly and easily it sounds as though she is talking faster than the rest of us.

Over the next week I oversee the training and watch as 8M breaks a board in half with his head; both 10M and 10F glide through swimming practice; 1F identify edible foods; 4F and 3M make friends despite the difference in words.

I like it. It takes my mind off having to see Britney every day. We now have to have a guard with us as she tends to my make-up. It's pointless. I wonder why Plutarch hasn't replaced her yet. By the way he lectured me after she'd been carted to hospital, I would have even gone as far as to say he had expected my reaction.

Britney has a bandaged nose but she keeps out of the limelight anyway. As far as the public know, we broke up after I became the face of the Games. Plutarch spun a story about me choosing work over her. It had enough drama to keep them happy.

So why is she still here?

"I don't want to be here," she tells me one day. She's in the middle of fixing me a cup of coffee during a break between the training. Her voice sounds funny due to the bandage. "I need to be here to keep my family safe."

I don't want to talk to her. I really don't. But now that we're in the same room and working together, it's hard to deny what Britney and I had.

"What is going on, Brit?" I ask her. The guard in the corner of the room looks up from his newspaper, no doubt hoping we were going to fight so he could break it up and have something to do.

"I told you," Britney sighs. "They took my brother. I had no choice but to convince you to sign up."

"So how is your brother?" I ask sarcastically.

"He's fine," she answers anyway. "He's at home with my parents. Or at least he is while I still agree to do this job."

I think about Britney's parents then, how they are from Tribe 3. They are Tribe's people yet they had Britney. Does that mean Britney isn't a person either? She looks like a person. She felt like a person.

I groan and throw my head back on the couch. It hurts to think.

"You've only got five more minutes," Britney warns me, placing my coffee in front of me. "It's the last day of training. They want as much footage as they can get."

I watch her clean up the small kitchenette in my dressing room. I think of how much she has changed since I last knew her. Or maybe that shy girl persona was all an act to get me to do what she wanted. Maybe I never knew the real Britney at all.

I don't think I'll bother trying to know her now.

(*)

The next day the Tributes are sent into the arena. I watch with the military team as eleven of them are taken down instantly at the Cornucopia. I try to distance myself from it all. In my mind this is nothing but footage they show in schools. This isn't happening right now.

But it is.

One by one I watch the soldiers of the deceased Tributes leave. They are to go to the Tribute's Village – a newly built area where the families of the Tributes can stay and watch the games – and inform the families of their losses. The families of the deceased will be sent home the next day as losers.

The Village is just more proof that the Capitol have been planning this for a long time.

2F is still going though and I sit next to Madison as we watch the girl make her bed for the night in a large tree. I had been right; Tribe 2's people are good at climbing trees. Madison had spent the past week teaching the young girl how to make a secure den in the tree tops and how to attack from above.

"She's doing well," I observe as we watch her sleep.

"She's done well to get this far," Madison agrees. "Thanks for the tip about them being able to climb."

"You're welcome," I say surprised.

"Seriously," she goes on. "I wouldn't have known otherwise. They don't speak the same words as we do."

I realize she is right. The fact that I could have potentially saved this young girl from death cheers me up a lot.

I want to stay with Madison and watch over 2F throughout the night but Plutarch has other plans. He sends Britney to collect me so I can get prepared for my first nightly interview with Flickerman.

Madison looks surprised when she sees Britney and me though she doesn't say anything, simply turning her gaze back to the screen.

"Well, Fin, where do we begin?" Flickerman asks me as soon as the cameras start rolling. Despite the audience being told to hush during the time we're on air, they can't help but murmur excitedly amongst themselves. "How about the very beginning?" he suggests. "Now, we all thought 4M's slaughter by 7F was a bit crafty don't you think?"

"The way she snuck up behind him like that?" I continue the conversation. "Very sly," I agree.

"And what about the alliance between 3F and 10F?"

"Well, we saw in training that they don't exactly see eye to eye," I say in a way that makes the audience chuckle.

Despite it only being a half hour interview with replaying clips from throughout the day, I feel drained by the time I get back to my dressing room. Britney's there with something a lot stronger than her tea and I drain the glass gladly.

"Rough day?" she asks casually.

"I don't want to talk to you," I tell her bluntly. She doesn't look surprised until I add, "Have you seen Madison?"

"You mean Soldier Hawthorne?" she asks. She sounds hurt but reluctantly informs me that she's still in the television room. I leave her without bothering to ask what's up with her.

"How's she doing?" I ask as soon as I enter the room. Madison is the only soldier left – the rest have gone for a rest – and she doesn't bother to look up to see who it is.

"Setting up camp," Madison explains. "A swarm of locusts ate the tree she was in first. She's got a few bites on her arms but it's nothing too serious."

"Nothing that needs treating?" I ask, knowing the soldiers are also acting as the Tribute's mentors.

"No point in wasting what little sponsor money she has," Madison sighs. She turns to me, "I didn't see your interview. How did it go?"

Surprised she is asking about me, I automatically say, "Fine." She raises an eyebrow at me and I sigh as I sit in the seat next to her.

The room is quite small and plain with just a cluster of metal chairs facing a wall dominated by twenty screens. Eleven have been switched off – those are the Tributes who have already died. I should really be watching the Games in the comfort of the conference room with Plutarch and President Paylor but there's something about Madison that draws me to her. I take advantage of the time alone I have with her to get to know her.

"How long have you been in the military?" I ask suddenly.

She tears her gaze away from the screens, surprised by my questioning. "Since I was sixteen," she answers. "I've wanted to do nothing else my entire life. You could say I was a bit of a Daddy's girl."

I smile with her. "What about your mother?" I ask. "Is she in the military too?"

"Oh, no!" Madison says quickly. "She doesn't like me and Dad being in it as it is. She works in a grocery shop. They met when Dad popped in to buy some food."

"That's it?" I ask, unable to stop myself.

"I know." To my relief, Madison doesn't look offended. She smiles knowingly. "It's not a romantic story at all. It's a bit dull but Mom loves to tell it to us over and over again."

"I don't know how my parents met," I find myself mumbling. "I wish I'd asked."

"Did your mother talk about your father a lot?" she asks. It's weird how she says it; like she already knows everything about me.

"Just his name made her go off in a trance," I tell her. "I tried to avoid it as much as possible."

"Poor Annie…" Madison trails off. She says it like she knew her.

"How do you know about my family?" I ask suddenly.

Madison's cheeks turn a slight pink. "I've read up on you," she says. "I used to be a big fan." An awkward silence fills the room. "When I say used to be, I mean because you're not acting anymore and…" she trails off, blushing even more.

"It's okay, I understand," I tell her before she can babble anymore. It's odd seeing her so flustered when her job requires her to be composed. She looks kind of cute.

"I'm sorry if I sounded like I was imposing," she tells me after a moment of silence.

"It's okay," I tell her again. "I shouldn't have been so surprised. You forget sometimes, when you're in the middle of it all, how much information about you is out there. It's surprising how much people want to know."

"I was only fifteen when you came onto the show," she says, sounding as though she is defending herself. "I was still a kid. At least I wasn't one of them older women who stalk you."

I burst out laughing at that. "Fair enough," I say.

"I also know when your birthday is," Madison goes on.

I frown, trying to count the dates. I haven't looked at a calendar in ages. It's been my way of avoiding the day the Games start. "When is it then?" I ask, testing her.

"Today," she smiles at me.

I look over at the clock on the wall – the only other piece of furniture in the room – and sure enough, I see it's three minutes passed midnight. My twenty-second birthday.

"Happy Birthday," Madison tells me, smiling.

Just then my eye catches one of the small screens on the wall. 10M is surrounded by the Tributes from 8. They've managed to get hold of some weapons from the Cornucopia. A spear is pierced through 10M's heart and he falls to the ground. The cannon goes off yet the two tributes don't seem to listen. They slice Aiden up, his blood staining the yellow grass of the corn field in which he'd been hiding.

I think of Aiden and how, just months ago, we had shared our passion for the sea. As the monitor fades to black I remember him laughing with me as he taught me to surf. He'd been the closest thing to a friend I had had on that 'tour' and he had almost made me forget what I was doing to him and all the other Tribe's people.

Now he's dead and his body will be shipped back in a sealed coffin to Tribe 10. Sealed because of the dismantled state in which it now lies though it doesn't matter; his family have probably already watched him die.

Happy Birthday indeed.

(*)

The following week continues in the same fashion; more deaths, more interviews. By the time the first week is over, only three Tributes remain: 9M, 6M and 2F. 2F has been hiding. She took down the two Tributes from Tribe 7 by distracting them with food and stabbing them in the back. But most of the time she has been hiding.

The public was especially happy when 10F turned on 3F though their fight proved to be nothing but a distraction before the two Tributes from 8 finished them off. The unlikely friendship between 3M and 4F didn't last long either.

I sit with Madison and another soldier, watching the Games play out. The soldier mentoring 9M has gone to the Control Room to send off some burns ointment which he needs badly after the Gamemakers sent fireballs down from the sky.

Madison is nervous. She wants 2F to make it. Like the other mentors she has grown close to her Tribute but the chances of 2F emerging as a victor are slim. She hasn't got the build to fight against the two young men remaining.

She's going to die unless I do something.

Thinking about 2F's ability to climb, I make my way over to the Gamemakers' Room where the controls for the arena are based.

"Sir," the Gamemakers all call out, getting to their feet and saluting me. I wonder where all this respect has come from. I am nothing compared to Gale and President Paylor yet I still get a lot of respect.

"The Games are getting a bit…dull," I say, putting on my best act. "How about we flood the arena?" I remember my mother winning her Games in a similar way. Maybe it's a sign.

"Flood the arena?" one Gamemaker asks in awe. "But they might all drown!"

"Leave the tree tops visible," I say it like an off-hand suggestion. "Surely, if they really want to live, they can climb to the top away from the water?" I'm all ready to go on and tell them how entertaining it would be to watch such a thing but it seems I've already won them over.

"It'd be a great finale," one of them muses. "Good idea, sir!"

"Oh no!" I say. "If anybody asks, it was all your idea." I point to the one who complimented me and he beams while the other two grumble. I don't want any part of this.

I leave the room and head back to the soldiers' room. Madison and the two other soldiers are watching the screen with open mouths. The Gamemakers work fast; the arena is slowly filling up with water.

I find myself watching the screens when the soldiers cringe and look away. Just as I had expected, 2F climbs to the tops of the trees as soon as the water hits. I watch 9M and 6M drown. I force myself to watch what I have caused. The streams of bubbles from their mouths cease before their panicked faces relax. They look almost peaceful.

The four of us are numb with shock. Even as the two cannons fire and the Capitol's Anthem goes off to announce the end of the Games, none of us react. Madison doesn't even look pleased.

Plutarch appears at the doorway in just a few minutes, beaming at us. His positivity meeting our negativity. "We have a winner!" he cries. "Fin, Madison, with me. You're going to greet 2F on camera as soon as the hovercraft returns."

The two of us follow him to a large room where he says 2F will show up soon before she's rushed to hospital. He leaves us after apologizing for not being able to stay. He says he has other business to attend to.

"You did that," Madison says suddenly, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" I ask. There is nowhere to sit in the room. It's just us until the camera crew and 2F arrive.

"You flooded that place," she explains. "Why?"

"I know I shouldn't be biased," I tell her. "But I've grown attached to 2F too." There's an awkward pause. "How did you know–?"

"Oh, please, I'm not stupid," Madison snaps. "You leave the room for a few minutes and all of a sudden the whole arena floods! It's a bit obvious."

I'm stunned into silence by her outbreak. After a few calming breaths she apologizes. "It's just everything," she tells me. "I know I'm supposed to be neutral but…" She doesn't say anymore after I pull her into a tight hug.

"I know exactly what you mean," I whisper in her ear. We stay like that until the doors we came through open, announcing the arrival of the camera crew. We pull apart instantly.

2F arrives shortly after, shaking but happy. She runs towards us, oblivious to the cameras. I can hear a news presenter speaking over us, announcing that 2F is happy and well. She sure looks it. She hugs both Madison and me tightly despite having lost a lot of weight. Though we can't understand her words, she seems thrilled to have won. She mentions something that sounds like 'family' and I assume she's talking about her family moving to Panem.

After just a few minutes, she's whisked away to the hospital for a full analysis. Once more, Madison and I are alone in the room.

"Maybe it's not so bad after all," I murmur aloud. Madison's head snaps up to me, her eyes venomous.

"What did you say?" she asks, her voice slightly above a whisper.

"The Games," I explain hurriedly. "Look at 2F, she's happy to finally give her family a better life. Maybe they're good for everybody after all."

"Are you forgetting the 19 people who have died over the past week?" Madison demands, her eyes brimming with tears though I can tell they are of anger and not sadness. "What has gotten into you?"

"I'm trying to look on the positive side!" I protest, holding my hands up. Madison is a lot stronger than me – she has to be to be in the military – and I know she could easily hurt me if she wanted.

"There is not positive side to this," she spits. "It's all wrong and you need to stop it."

"How?" I ask. "I'm just an actor for goodness sake!"

"You're the driving force behind this," Madison reminds me. "I bet if you talked to Paylor you could change her mind. Even I know she's not too happy about it all."

"She's not," I agree. "It's Plutarch who's so happy about it."

"Then go and talk to her," Madison urges me, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me to the door. "Go now whilst the attention is focused on 2F and the deaths of the Games are still fresh."

I do as I am told, running through the corridors to the office where President Paylor watches the Games in the television building. I hope she's there because I don't fancy getting through all the crowds of the Capitol to get to her mansion.

I burst through the door to find her sitting behind her large oak desk. Plutarch is behind her, hands gripping her hair as he drags a knife along her throat leaving a crimson line behind.


	11. Eleven

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

11

President Paylor's head falls forward, hitting the desk with a thud. Her whole body is slouched over the table, a pool of dark blood forming over the dark oak of the desk. For the first few seconds I am numb with shock, then I start to feel regret at not looking into her eyes. Was she alive when I walked in? Was I the last thing she saw? Finally, a lump of fear sets in my chest as I realize I'm in the room with the killer.

"What-" I begin but can't think of anything to say. A soldier I haven't seen before steps behind me and slams shut the double doors, effectively blocking my exit.

"Fin!" Plutarch sounds surprised but not alarmed at me being a witness to his killing. "I thought you were downstairs with your lady friend. Madison, wasn't it?"

I swallow thickly.

"Such a shame you had to see this." Now he sounds annoyed but for a brief second he looks me in the eye and I see him pleading with me. Pleading for what? But then he blinks and it's gone. "I really didn't want to have to do this to you."

"Do what to me?" I ask. My legs are shaking now. I've never been confronted by a man with a blade in his hands. Though I've been under constant watch for the past few months, I've never felt under threat by any of my guards. Now one of them is going to stand by and watch me get murdered by my boss.

I have been an idiot coming up here. If Madison hadn't suggested I talk to Paylor I wouldn't be here right now. Madison…

She needs to know what's happened.

"I had been planning on making it seem like an anger murder," Plutarch informs me. "It could have been anybody in this building even you…" He looks hard at me again. I get the feeling he is trying to convey something to me but I can't grasp what he's trying to say. "I suppose that would be the best option now. Frame you for it and have you killed. Either way I get to be President."

I want to speak but I can't find my words.

"Television doesn't have the same power as it used to," Plutarch goes on. "If I want to get anywhere, I need to be President." He twirls the knife – blood on silver – between his fingers before thrusting it heroically in the air. "You just made my plan so much easier, Fin." His eyes are sad when he looks at me again though I can't tell if it is an act or not. "Although, I am sorry to have to get rid of you. I'd come to think of you as my own son these past few years."

I launch for him then, angry he had hinted at him being a father figure to me. The thought makes my stomach turn. I want to scratch his eyes out but at the same time I want to run away and never see him again.

Somebody else walks in then; Gale. He looks as shocked as I am at the scene.

"General, take Fin down to the cells," Plutarch orders him lazily. "He needs to be kept somewhere before his execution."

"Execution?" Gale questions.

"Of course," Plutarch nods. "After all, he murdered the President didn't he?"

Gale looks from me to Plutarch to the knife. I hope he's not so dumb as to believe the Head of Communications-turned-President but I'm not sure where Gale's loyalty lies.

"With me," he orders me gruffly, taking me by both arms and marching me out of the room. But not before he takes a last glance at President Paylor's body.

"I didn't do it," I tell Gale as soon as we get to the cells underground. The Capitol Prison is all under the ground now and is accessible from every public building. This is so anyone can go down and humiliate the criminals. As you can tell, crime isn't that popular in Panem anymore and the cells under the television building are empty save for the scurry of a rat. Our voices echo off the dull grey walls and the florescent tubes over our heads that have dimmed over time give flickering warnings that they're about to give in.

"I know," Gale says. He lets go of me and I spin round to face him.

"How did you get in?" I ask. "There was a guard blocking the door."

"I'm the General," he reminds me. "And besides, all the military are under contracts too."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Basically, I'm under oath not to report Plutarch to the Guardians," he tells me.

"Well, that's okay," I say, "Because I'm getting framed for it anyway."

I tell him this with such certainty because I have accepted it. There are no tears in my eyes because crying will do me no good now. I might cry later when I'm alone in my cell and there is nothing but my own echo to answer me and nobody to hold me but the chill of the underground air.

"You're very brave, Fin," Gale tells me and I'm suddenly aware that there are tears in his eyes. I realize that if anybody had been a father figure to me in my life it was General Gale Hawthorne as odd as it was to believe. "But I'm not going to let you get shot for this."

"What do you mean?" I ask, wishing he wouldn't give me hope. "There's nothing you can do, Gale. If you report Plutarch to the Guardians then he'll kill you."

"No, he won't kill me," Gale says with so much certainty that I believe him. "He'll kill my family."

"No!" I cry, realizing his contract must have been much different to mine. After all, I have no family left to kill. They certainly wouldn't count Nurse Everdeen.

"I won't let them," Gale promises me. "But I'm not going to let them kill you either."

"There's nothing you can do!" I repeat. I hate him because he's about to reduce me to tears and I don't want his last memory of me to be me sobbing like a baby.

"Yes there is," he tells me, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper that immediately captures my attention. "I'm going to take you to the door that leads out of the Television Tower. From there, I need you to run. I can't do anything else but I need you to try and get to District 12 and tell Katniss what is happening."

"What will happen to you?" I ask, part of me knowing I won't survive the trip to District 12 on foot.

"Don't worry about me," he orders, already dragging me down the rows of dark cells.

After walking for ten minutes, Gale leads me up a flight of stairs and through a gray door – or at least it looks grey in the little light that we have. We find ourselves in a small office on the ground floor of the Television Tower.

"My office," Gale answers my unvoiced question. "They thought it best to keep the other door to the cells near the General." He smiles as if he has told a joke and I smile back though I know it's wooden.

Gale quickly finds some paper and a pen and scribbles down a list of names. "Here's a list of people who might help you on your way. Don't trust anybody in 1 and 2," he instructs me. "And stay away from District 4. That's where they'll expect you to go."

"Won't they expect me to go to 12?" I ask.

"After Katniss reportedly nearly killed you? I doubt it," he smiles.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, taking the paper from him. I tuck it into the back pocket of my pants, deciding to look at the list of allies later.

"Because I owe Finnick," he tells me. "And this is the only way I can pay him back. Besides," he ruffles my hair, "You've grown on me. And you're a dead ringer for him with that hair."

I duck away from him. We both share a sad smile for a second before he's hurrying me out of the back door of his office. He hugs me quickly and mumbles something to me but his voice is thick and his words are hurried. There's no time to ask him to repeat it either because then there's a knock at his third door – the one that leads to the corridors of the building meaning it could be anybody – and he's pushing me outside, slamming the door in my face.

I don't stop. I weave my way expertly through the streets. Everybody is either in their homes or on the main plaza watching the post-Games interviews and wondering where the heck I am. Taking a route through the backstreets is longer but safer. Still I itch with the need to get out of this city. I pass my apartment on the way and bid a silent goodbye to it. Juppy's newspaper stall stands empty and cold in the Main Street but I bid goodbye to it anyhow. Part of me worries for Madison but I tell myself that I have nothing to worry about. They won't kill her because there is no need and they need her because she is the mentor of the winning tribute. She is safe as long as I stay away from her.

When I hit the forest I break into a sprint, hoping to put as much distance between me and the Capitol as possible.

I don't stop running until I'm a good half mile away from the place. Then I have to stop and catch my breath. It's then that I realize how hopeless my situation is. I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Suddenly my mind pieces together what Gale's last words were as he pushed me through the door.

_Take care of Madison for me._

(*)

It's dark by the time I fall to the ground, exhausted. I'm cold, hungry and tired but I can't imagine myself sleeping on the bare ground. I think of all the wild animals that occupy these lands; the last thing I need now is to be ripped apart by some wild wolf.

I hear running water and blindly make my way over to it. The half moon reflects off the black waters making it look like running silver. I realize it is just as precious as I scoop handfuls of it to my mouth, groaning in relief as the liquid hits my dry throat. I've been walking for hours now without knowing where I am. I'm too close to the Capitol to be away from Districts 1 and 2 so there's nobody I can appeal for help to.

Next to the stream, I notice a sort of bank where a rock hangs over. It's good for cover though not exactly comfortable. As I reside there, I wonder whether the Capitol will send people looking for me. At that thought, I press myself even further into the soil. It's nice to hear the running water as I drift off to sleep. If I try hard enough, I can imagine it's the lapping of the sea in District 4…

If I look hard enough, I can see the sea outside my window. But I'm not interested in the sea right now. My little hands grip the sides of my crib. I'm screaming but nobody's listening; my diaper's wet, my bed's wet but still nobody comes. It's dark and my face hurts from being scrunched up so tightly by the time the door to my nursery is flown open and Nurse Everdeen comes rushing in.

"Oh, you poor baby," she coos, lifting me up and holding me tightly to her. I scream louder then because she's not who I'm looking for. Where is she?

Nurse Everdeen carries me down the stairs, jostling me but it is of little comfort. The person who I'm looking for is sat in the living room, staring out to sea. My crying stops when I see her over Nurse Everdeen's shoulder and I reach out to her.

She doesn't acknowledge me.

"Not now, Fin," Nurse Everdeen soothes, placing me down on my changing mat. I can't see anything but the ceiling now and I start howling again, "Mommy's not well, sweetheart."

There's no blurring effect or darkening light. The image changes rapidly and I'm now sat in my highchair, my food bowl tipped over in my distress, mush everywhere. My mother stares down at me, her eyes – identical to mine – don't seem to see me. I cry louder but still she stands there, unmoving.

Can she not see me? Why isn't she reacting? Only a moment ago she was feeding me and then she just…went. Even banging my fist – an action I've learned annoys her – doesn't bring her back to me.

Nurse Everdeen walks in eventually as she always does. She holds my mother by the shoulders and shakes her. Mother cries. I cry even more because I don't want Mommy to be hurting.

I even wake up from the repressed memories with tears in my eyes. The warm sun seeps through the trees, waking my body up. I flex my fingers. It's the second day and I'm still alive; so far so good.

Lying on my back and looking up at the blue sky between the tree tops, I think of the Tributes in the Hunger Games. If they could find food so easily and survive on so little then maybe I stand a chance of getting to District 12 after all.

I realize I'm not good at hunting as soon as I begin. My footing is too heavy and I soon scare off any prey I would have hoped to have caught. Still, even if I didn't scare that beaver away, I didn't think I had the guts to kill it with my bare hands as I'd seen 1M do before he was killed.

But I can't continue on foot without having anything to eat. I decide to follow the stream as it's useful to keep a source of water close by. After a few hours of walking and stomach rumbling, something in the water catches my eye. I stop and stare for a few minutes before deciding it was just a trick of the light. But before I start moving again, I see another movement and another.

Fish.

They're not big fish like we catch in District 4 but still they are something and I drop to my knees, plucking them easily out of the water and onto the land next to me. I used to catch them like this all the time when I was little. Mother would be out with the boat and the net and I would stay near the shore, paddling.

I also know fish can be eaten raw. They don't taste as good but they are a good source of protein and water at the same time. I don't even notice the taste as I gobble them down.

It feels good to finally have some food in me and I continue walking.

The next week is pretty much the same. I eat and drink from the stream and sleep near its banks so I'm relatively out of sight should a hovercraft come flying over. My clothes are filthy but still in good nick by the time I encounter my first danger.

I stumble out of a patch of long grass to find myself face to face with a gray she-wolf. Her fur is gray and her eyes are black. She pulls her lip up in a snarl, revealing her sharp teeth. For a second, I stand there. I have no fear about my life ending this way only annoyance. I made it all this way in the wilderness to be killed by some wolf?

I think about fighting her but my options are slim. There are no weapons available and even if there were I wouldn't know how to use them. I've lived a sheltered life and never wanted for anything apart from my mother's attention. I don't know how to fight.

Before I collapse to the ground in defeat, something flies through the air, over my head and hits the wolf. She gives out a yelp but I don't see whether she's dead or not because something leaps onto my back, pushing me to the ground and knocking me out cold.


	12. Twelve

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

12

I'm getting used to the familiar ache of waking up after I've been knocked out. I don't even bother to groan in pain as my eyes adjust to my surroundings. I am, however, completely unused to the feeling of my memories rushing back to me; the wolf, the flying object I now remember as an axe, something pressing my face into the dirt.

I'm in a log cabin. The fire is crackling and a cat sits on the arm of the sofa which I lie on. It's gray with green eyes and its watching me so intently I squirm under its gaze.

"Sorry I had to do that to you, hon," a female voice I don't recognize talks to me. For a confusing moment, I think it's the cat but after turning my head painfully to the side I see I am not alone.

A woman with straggly brown hair sits in an armchair on the other side of the room, watching me like the cat.

"I didn't know who you were," she goes on, getting up and walking over to me.

Suddenly I'm aware there's nothing covering me put a thin blanket. Where the hell are all my clothes?

"I'm washing your clothes," she tells me as though she can read my mind. My eyes widen in mortification. It's not like she's a doctor or anything. She cackles. "Don't be so shy," she tells me. "I wasn't about to leave you in those rags whether you wanted your dignity spared or not."

"Who are you?" I demand.

She regards me with sympathetic eyes. "You don't remember me do you?" she says sadly. "Not that I expect you to. I haven't seen you since you were this big." She pushes her hand towards the ground, creating the height of a three-year-old. "I'd popped by to see Annie and you were running all over the place with hair as crazy as if you'd been electrocuted." She pauses. "Saying that, Annie was going through a rough time – maybe you did get electrocuted. It would explain were you got all that energy for running around from. She just charged you like a battery!"

"Excuse me?" I ask shocked. I sit up, remember my predicament and pull the blanket higher to cover my chest.

"I'm sorry, Finnick Odair Jr." she says, stressing my name. "I'm Johanna Mason but you had a habit of call me JoJo despite that fact I only saw you once." She cackles again.

"Johanna Mason," I mumble, trying to think where I had heard the name before.

"I'm on that special list of yours," she says proudly.

Of course! The list Gale gave me. Wow. I've made it District 7 already?

I look Johanna over. Her hair makes her look like a witch but her baggy plaid shirt and big brown boots tell me otherwise.

"Why did you hit me?" I ask.

"Well, I didn't know who you were!" she says defensively. "For all I knew you were in legion with the wolves. I think it's breeding time for them you know. They've killed about five of my cats already." As if in agreement, the gray cat meows. "That's right, Pompo," Johanna says to the cat, nodding.

Pompo…in legion with the wolves…implying my own mother electrocuted me. I think Johanna has lost it over the years.

"What you doing here anyway?" she asks, dropping down to the floor in front of me. "I don't get visitors often and you didn't even know who I was so clearly you're not here to see me."

I was out in the woods when Johanna found – no, attacked – me. That should tell her I wasn't here to visit anybody but she can't understand that.

"Haven't you seen the television?" I ask her. I didn't know what story the Capitol had spun but I wanted to see how Plutarch has explained his sudden rise to Presidency, what the public think has happened to me, and most importantly what has happened to Gale.

Johanna jumps to her feet as soon as I mention television and hisses at me like a cat. "Television is evil," she tells me as though she's warning me. "I don't have anything to do with it anymore." She pauses again. "I used to be in the Hunger Games you know."

"I know," I sigh. She looks like a frightened child now.

"They hurt me," she mumbles quietly. "And then there was a war, did you hear?" I nod. "Your daddy died in that war. I didn't think that was fair. I have no family you see. Finnick was my only friend. I wish that Enobaria bitch had died instead of your daddy."

I want to agree with her but since I don't know who Enobaria is, I don't think it will be fair.

"Johanna," I say. She frowns at me. I sigh, "JoJo." At that she grins.

"Yes?" she asks.

"Can I have some clothes?"

"Why?" she asks, confused. "Do you not like being naked? I could get naked too so you're not on your own." I think she's joking until she reaches for the buttons on her shirt.

"No!" I cry. "Please, I'm cold."

"Oh!" she cries. "Well, obviously, that is the reason we made clothes! I'll be right back."

She leaves the room and as soon as she's gone it's like the energy as gone with her. I exchange a long look with Pompo, and wonder how long Johanna has been alone. She can't have lost it altogether as, by the looks of the axe hung on the wall and the way it hit that wolf, she's still a fighter.

"Here you go!" she announces, running back in the room with an armful of clothes. She dumps them on top of me but doesn't turn away.

"Erm, JoJo?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have some privacy?"

"But I've already seen it all."

"Please!" I beg, burying my face in my hands.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, okay, fussy-body, come in the kitchen when you're all covered and I'll fix you some broth."

The thought of a hot meal after a week of eating cold fish makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble.

"And I ain't stupid," she tells me as though she's warning me again. "I know you still haven't told me why you're here."

She leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

"And don't mind Pompo!" she calls loudly through the wood of the door. "He's seen it all too!"

(*)

I'm on my third helping of broth by the time I'm done reciting my story to Johanna. I haven't told her everything because, like my mother, she has a fragile mind and I don't want to scare her. I don't even think she knows the Hunger Games have come back. So I tell her the government wants me and Gale helped me to escape and now I'm on my way to District 12.

"Don't eat too much," she warns me. "When I came out of the arena, they told me if I ate too much my stomach would explode."

I push the broth away from me.

It's sad that Johanna can still remember so many bad memories. The way she recites them in her childish voice reminds me of my mother so much. And it makes her stories all the more worse.

"Is Gale the pretty one?" she asks me. I think of Gale's scarred face and sad eyes.

"I wouldn't know," I tell her, thinking that maybe he had been pretty when Johanna had known him.

"Oh, of course you wouldn't!" she says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You probably have a girlfriend!"

She gets up and takes my bowl to the sink. I throw my arms up in the air in frustration, unable to keep up with her conversation though I make sure they're back on the table by the time she turns around again.

"So, what are you going to do now?" she asks me.

I look outside the log cabin window. The sun is setting. Would it be rude to ask to stay the night?

"I have a spare room if you need to rest before you continue your quest," she says, cackling at her own rhyme. Johanna Mason scares me.

Her spare room turns out to be occupied – by her two dozen cats. A crowd of brown, gray, black and white fur greets me as I enter the room.

"Don't mind the kids!" she calls from her own room. "They don't bite!"

But they do scratch as I discovered when I woke up the next morning.

Johanna is in the kitchen, already cooking something on the stove when I walk in. Pancakes. I think.

"Good morning, Finnick Odair Jr.," she says.

"It's just Fin," I tell her.

"Fin?" she questions. "Like a fin from a fish? Well, that's suitable." She cackles again before dumping a plate of – pancakes? – in front of me on the table. She joins me minutes later with her own plate.

"You have to go today don't you?" she pouts like a child.

"Yes, I do," I tell her. "But thank you for taking care of me."

"I had to!" she says defensively. "I was the one who hit who remember?"

"What did you hit me with?" I ask, rubbing the back of my skull. The spot is a bit tender but it's nothing too serious. Not compared with what I've suffered from the Katniss and the guards at the Capitol.

"My fist," she says, swiping a punch at me from across the table. I tell myself she missed on purpose though, by the crazed look in her eyes, I'm not sure she did. "I can still fight you know." She sounds like a lost little girl at that last bit despite her weathered face.

"I'm sure you can," I tell her as though I am talking to an infant.

The lost, crazed expression falls from her face only to be replaced by anger. She stands and throws her wooden chair across the kitchen. I stand in shock, completely taken aback by this sudden change of character.

"They killed them you know!" she cries running round the table and standing so her face is inches from mine. "They took every one of them and they killed them, all because I wouldn't do as they wanted."

I don't know what she's talking about but her madness is similar to what my mother's was.

"_I can't get the blood off me, Fin! It's still there no matter how much I bathe." _Then she would hold her arms up to me as if showing me the blood. The only blood I used to see were hers where she'd scrubbed so hard in the water that she'd taken some skin off.

Now Johanna glares at me in range. So I do the only thing I know to do; the only thing I did with my mother. I wrap my arms around her. I was only eight when I did this to my mother so it was more like a hugging of the legs but I'm older now and taller than Johanna. I pull her close to me to protect her from her thoughts, wishing I could still do the same to my mother.

"I didn't want to assassinate people," Johanna sobs into my shoulder. "I didn't want to…" She trails off and I try my best to ignore what she's saying. I've worked out that the Capitol killed all of Johanna's family but I don't want to know why.

Eventually she calms down enough for me to put her back into her bed as she falls asleep. I don't want to leave Johanna. She reminds me so much of my mother but I have no choice. The only way I can help her now is to get to District 12.

"I'll come back, JoJo," I tell her. She mumbles something in her sleep.

I take some food from Johanna's kitchen. Not much but just enough to get me through another couple of days. I don't want to take anything from Johanna but I I'm beginning to worry that the fish in the stream won't sustain me or I may find myself having to go off course. If I follow the stream the entire way then I'll end up near the ocean. District 12 is not near the ocean.

Luckily for me, Johanna's house is at the edge of the woods so I sneak out of District 7 unseen. The large poles that used to hold up barbed wire concealing the people inside still stand though the wire was torn down years ago. Something else I remember from History class.

The following days and nights are spent mostly in my head. I can't stop thinking about what led me here, about how Johanna got how she is – crazy one minute, homicidal the other – how my mother could walk into the sea and just leave me like she did.

I smell District 12 before I see it. The medicine factory gives off a distinctive odor of burning grass and concentrated pollen. As I part the bushes to step into the District from the woods, I feel like I've reached heaven.

I've only been to District 12 once before with Gale but the five months I spent here made me feel more at home than I'd ever felt in the Capitol. It's the look of the people I see as I walk down the streets. You can tell they belong here by their weathered faces just as you can tell I belong in District 4 by my lean build. The Capitol isn't home to anybody; it's just a mixture of different people trying to be who they're not.

But this? The natural beauty of all of this is wonderful. I smile at every face that looks at me as I make my way over to Katniss' home. I'm drunk off relief. After nearly two months of travelling I am here. I realize then that a lot of faces are looking at me.

A hand grabs my arm and pulls me into a shop when I walk through the town. I'm immediately hit by the smell of warm bread and I breathe it in with a sigh; I'm in a bakery. A lovely, warm toasty bakery.

"Fin, snap out of it!" Peeta Mellark's voice awakens me from my drunken state. His usually welcoming tone is now hard and vicious.

"What is it?" I ask, suddenly alarmed. I look down and realize I'm still dressed in the black pants and green plaid shirt that Johanna gave me. I look slightly muddy but I'm not that un-presentable that he should be angry with me.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Gale sent me," I tell him, not ignoring the look of shock that crosses over his feature when I mention Gale's name. "I need to talk to Katniss."

"There's no need," Peeta tells me. He drops his hands from my shoulders and steps back. I notice he's wearing a white apron over his clothes. So he's the District baker then. "We already know Plutarch's took control of the country. If you bring it up again to Katniss it'll only upset her even more."

I nod, understanding that Plutarch had once been a good guy – a friend of Katniss. "Any news on Gale?" I ask though my heart already knows what he's going to say before he says it.

Peeta straightens up as if in respect. "General Gale Hawthorne was executed live on television last week."


	13. Thirteen

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

13

I drop to my knees, feeling utterly defeated.

I try telling myself that I knew this would happen all along. Gale had practically told me when he'd helped me to escape. He'd told me to look after his daughter. He wouldn't bother saying that if he knew there was a chance of survival. But still there had been a part of me that had hoped he would escape somehow; that he would join me in the woods and we'd get to District 12 together.

But even thinking this now I know it would have been impossible. They'd have just taken Madison as hostage until he came back. And he would have come back – for her.

"Come on, Fin," Peeta says gently. "Let's get you to the house so you can get cleaned up."

He helps me up off the floor and I stand frozen to the ground as he closes up shop. Peeta takes my hand and leads me out of the back door.

We are silent on our journey to the house.

Katniss must have seen us coming through the window because she's waiting there at the front door by the time we reach the garden path. She leaves the door open behind her as she runs down the path and jumps into Peeta's arms. He lets go of my hand to catch her and holds her to him as he finishes the walk down the path.

Rosie and Martox come running out the open doorway.

"Fin!" they both cry and in that split second I snap out of any depression I have been dragged into. The pair of them run up to me and hug my legs, grinning up at me. I can't help but smile back when I see them. I remember last time I came here when I referred to both them and me as Innocents. I don't think I belong in the same category as them anymore but the way their faces radiate joy makes me forget about the real world for a bit.

For a moment I am six years old again, just like Rosie. My thoughts are pretty straight forward; if I don't go swimming today the world will end. But Mommy doesn't want to take me swimming yet – she's talking with somebody in the front room. I hear raised voices and Mommy sounds upset but I don't want to go into the room because the other lady scares me. She has her back to me when I peak around the door and I see her long white-blonde hair that reaches down to her waist.

"Fin?" Peeta's concerned voice breaks me out of my memory. I am surprised I remembered something so vivid whilst being awake. I follow the Mellark family inside the house.

Peeta cleans the cuts on my face I only now just notice I have. Rosie helps by handing him the bandages and telling me all what I've missed since I've been away. I try to nod and smile at all the right places but by the way she frowns at me, I assume I have failed.

"Let's leave Fin to rest now, Rosie," Peeta tells her, picking her up and swinging her about. She giggles and waves to me as he carries her out of the room.

Rosie doesn't leave me alone for long. A few minutes later she wonders back into the front room and jumps onto the seat next to me. "Are you sad about Gale?" she asks.

My head snaps towards her. How can she be so young and take it so easily? Then again, I remember not being affected by death so much when I was her age. She probably doesn't even know what happened to him.

"There's no need to be sad," she continues. "He lives on in the book, Mommy said."

I frown at her. "What book?" I ask.

Her eyes widen and she gasps dramatically. "You don't know about the book?" she asks. Before I can answer, she slides off the sofa and makes her way to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the corner of the room. She pulls out a heavy leather volume and makes her way over to me again. I help her balance the heavy book on both our laps.

Rosie flips to the back of the book and points at an old photograph of Gale. At least I think it's Gale. The young man in the photo is no older than me and his face is clean of any scars.

"Mommy says whenever we miss him, we can just look in the book," she tells me, resting her head against my arm. "You can look too if you want."

A tear escapes my eye and falls down onto the paper, gently smudging a bit of ink from a sentence about Gale's snares when he and Katniss went hunting. Rosie pulls the book away from me.

"Mommy says you can't cry when you look at the book," she says it as though I've done something terribly wrong.

"I'm sorry," I say, blinking furiously. "I didn't mean to ruin the book."

"Oh, it's not that you'll ruin the book," she tells me. "It's just that you're supposed to be happy when you look at the book, not sad."

I smile down at her, realizing how strong this girl is. Katniss chooses that moment to walk in.

"Rosie, what did I say about letting Fin rest?" she asks but then her eyes fall down onto the book and she loses her annoyed stance of hands on hips. "What are you doing with the book, Rosie?"

"I was showing Gale's page to Fin," Rosie says defensively. She reminds me instantly of Katniss.

"We don't show anybody the book, Rosie," Katniss reminds her in a warning tone. "What did I tell you?"

"But Fin isn't a stranger," she protests. "He knew Gale too."

Katniss' eyes flick over to me. I expect her to start shouting but her face softens and she sighs. "Have you seen Finnick's page?"

"No," I say, shocked, my eyes flitting between the book and Katniss' face.

"I'll show him," Rosie sings, proud to help. She flicks furiously through the pages, a blur of faces I don't recognize.

Finally she comes to a stop on a page near the beginning. One side of the double page is dominated by a painting of a man with bronze hair and unusual green eyes. My breathe catches in my throat and all of a sudden Gale and Johanna's comments about me looking like him come to mind. I can't help but stare.

My father.

Vaguely I become aware of Rosie leaving the room, of Katniss taking her place in the seat beside me but my eyes stay fixed on this one page. It's hard to imagine that the realistic painting before me was once a real person who lived and breathed – and loved. On the opposite page is sketched a trident. I reach out and trace my fingers along the silver lines. A memory breaks free from the depths of my mind. It's been hidden so deep and for so long because I was so young when it happened.

I'm on our boat. Mother's been having a good day and has taken me out to go fishing with her. She's positioning the net over the side of the boat and I'm toddling up and down the deck, delighted to be spending a full day with my mother.

Something in the boat's cabin catches my eye, the sun glints off a piece of silver. Curious, I make my way over to it whilst Mother is still busy with the net. I look at the long silver trident and squeal at the prettiness of it.

"Mommy, look!" I cry, reaching out to grab it.

All of a sudden her hand appears before me, slapping my own hand away. "Don't touch it," she hisses at me. Confused, I begin to cry. "You never touch this, Fin," she warns me, ignoring my tears as she picks me up and carries me back out onto the deck. "That was your father's."

She holds me until I stop crying, offering no words of comfort. Sometimes she strokes my hair. I think that was the day I learned that – when it came to my mother – crying got me nowhere.

I snap back to the present when I realize Katniss is talking to me.

"Sorry," I say. "What were you saying?"

She smiles sympathetically at me. "I was asking whether you were okay."

"Oh," I say, "Well I think I answered that for you anyway."

We're both silent for a few minutes; me staring at the book, her staring at me. Every now and again we hear a door slam or Rosie talk loudly to either her brother or her father.

"He was a good man you know," Katniss eventually breaks the silence. "He was a hero and he saved my life so many times." She pauses, takes a deep breath, "But I couldn't save him."

"He'd be ashamed of me wouldn't he?" I say, though it's more of a statement than a question. Still, it feels good to voice the feelings I've been keeping inside me for past the year.

Katniss doesn't answer. She just looks at me; I can feel her stare though I keep my eyes trained on the book. Eventually it gets too much, and I tear my gaze away to stare at the corner of the front room.

"I lost my sister in the war you know," Katniss tells me. Her sudden confession makes me snap my head towards her.

Her sister must be Nurse Everdeen's daughter. No wonder she never told me what happened. I think about that time all those months ago on the deck where, under Gale's watchful eyes, I'd asked her what had happened to her daughter. I cringe at how abrupt I must have seemed.

"What was her name?" I ask. The textbooks in History never mentioned anything about the Mockingjay having a sister. Maybe they didn't care, maybe it looked bad the Mockingjay saving the country but losing her sister, or maybe – just maybe – the historians grew a heart and decided that they would show some respect and leave the death as a private family matter.

"Primrose Everdeen," Katniss whispers. She uses the name with a mixture of respect and surprise as though it has been a long time since she mentioned her sister's name out loud. "She was killed in a bomb attack in the Capitol." Her hand moves mechanically as she flicks away from my father's page to the very first set of double pages in the book. A photograph of a young girl stares back at us both. Her face is full of life and she almost reminds me of Rosie.

"She's who you named Rosie after isn't she?" I say suddenly without even realizing I've voiced my opinion.

"Yes she is," Katniss replies, reaching out and touching her sister's photograph, tracing the lines with her fingers as I had done with the sketch of my father's trident.

"Why didn't you just call her Rose then?" I ask without thinking.

Katniss' head snaps up and she glares at me. "Because roses are what _he _wore," she almost spits. "I would never relate my child to the flower associated with him."

"I'm sorry," I say.

Her face softens then, the burns on her face become more noticeable when she has a kinder expression. I wonder whether this is why she walks around with a scowl on her face all the time. It makes sense.

"It's not your fault," she says. "As it turns out, the Capitol will never be fair. We just found out the hard way."

"You talk like you've given up," I tell her.

"What's there to fight for, Fin?" she asks me. "I'm old and I'm tired. At least the Capitol aren't killing children from the Districts anymore."

"But this is just the start," I remind her. "If they can get away with this then what else are they going to do?"

"Our only chance was to win President Paylor round but she's dead so we've lost," Katniss sighs. "You were too late." I want to defend myself but she continues before I get the chance to utter a word, "Besides, you're on the run now. What can you do when you're on the run? As soon as the Capitol find you they will kill you."

"What have they said about me?" I ask, realizing I've been out of the news loop for two months.

"They've already told the world you're dead," she answers. "And you should be," she frowns, "How did you survive for months in the woods with nothing?"

I tell her about the fish and the stream and about Johanna.

"Poor Johanna," Katniss mutters. "She's the last person I would have thought to lose her mind."

"Maybe living on her own for so long hasn't done her any good," I say, remembering her words to me. _I didn't want to assassinate people. _

"I saw you when you were a baby too," Katniss says suddenly.

I look up surprised. I've grown up thinking I had the smallest family in my District yet by the sounds of it, there were a lot more people around me than I'd been aware of.

"You were very little," Katniss continues. "It'd only been a few days since you'd come out of hospital yet Annie showed up at my door with no warning at all." She smiles as though the memory of it all is absurd. "You know, I remember thinking how glad I was to have company outside of the District and then I saw there was something in the blanket that she was holding." I smile now because of the comedic way she tells the story. "I remember feeling guilty at first," she goes on, her smile vanishing, "That I couldn't save…" She trails off.

Without thinking, I reach across the book and take her hand in mine. Her skin is jagged due to her burns but I ignore it. She looks at me in surprise. "It wasn't your fault," I tell her, slowly and surely. In that moment it feels as though Katniss and I have truly connected. She could hate me for 'supporting' the Hunger Games and I could hate her for not saving my father but we don't. For the first time, I feel we are on the same page.

"That's what Annie told me," she says. "Would you like to add a page for her?"

Her offer surprises me and I look down at the large book over our laps. Hundreds and hundreds of pages already filled with so many left to go. Would I be in that book one day? Would I die a death to deserve such a…honor? The thought of both my parents being in this book upsets me but there's nothing I can do now but to honor my mother's memory and place her in the same book as her husband.

I flip my way through the book to the blank pages, pausing on the page before Gale's to prepare myself.

"Haymitch," Katniss mutters slowly, stopping my hand before I can turn over.

I blink at her. "Who?" I ask before cringing. Obviously the man on this page meant a lot to her and I was being rude.

She doesn't seem to mind though as she traces his name along the top of the page: Haymitch Abernathy. His name doesn't ring any bell and I wait patiently for her to explain.

"He was my mentor," she tells me. I automatically think of Madison mentoring the young girl from Tribe 2. "Nobody remembers him," she says as though she can read my mind from before. "He died of liver disease three years ago. If it wasn't for him I'd probably be dead." When it looks like she isn't going to say anything more, I turn over to the blank pages. Katniss' mention of Haymitch makes me think of all the other people in this book I have never heard of.

At school, we sometimes did pop quizzes on the victors of the Hunger Games but I could never remember enough to get a pass. Now I realize how important it is to remember those people.

"Peeta can draw her for you if you like," Katniss offers. She must see the blank look on my face as I stare down at the two white pages, at a loss of where to begin. I know for certain, though, that I didn't want Peeta to draw my mother.

"I want to do it," I say. "If that's alright," I add hurriedly remembering this is not my book.

Katniss looks surprised at first but assures me it's fine, leaving the room and returning with a box.

"These are Peeta's art supplies," she tells me. "Don't mess them up." Her warning is only half-joking.

She leaves me then. I am all alone with the task to imprint my mother's memory onto the double page. I start with her eyes. I'd always known I'd gotten my mother's eyes even before I saw the picture of my father. His eyes were too light a green – both mine and my mother's were as deep as the green reeds found on the surface of the ocean in District 4.

I've never been any good at painting but I try my best to do her long dark hair justice. It's only when I see a drop of water form on the page, smudging her eyebrow slightly that I realize I am crying. Remembering Rosie's warning, I pushed the book away and take deep breaths to calm myself. I couldn't do this if I was going to be a blubbering wreck.

It feels like I am eight years old and losing her all over again. My chest aches with the same lost and confused feeling I'd had that day on the beach where I'd wondered round until it got dark; until Nurse Everdeen had found me.

It takes me until the middle of the night, when the full moon beams light into the dark front room, for me to finish. The others have gone to bed long ago with Rosie and Martox giving me goodnight hugs. Now that I'm alone, I allow myself to miss my mother and I think of Gale.

It's only now that he's dead, that I realize he had been the closest thing to a father-figure I had had despite only knowing him for a short period of time. Hidden by the darkness of the room, I allow myself to mourn him.

(*)

I spend the next week with the Mellark family, trying to convince myself that I belong with them and I've never done a bad thing in my life. People from District 12 come to the house, asking Peeta and Katniss if Fin Odair is really in their home. After all, didn't the new President Plutarch announce his death just last week? Taken an overdose in his apartment because he couldn't deal with fame apparently.

The way I see it, the fame was the least reason I'd use to overdose.

Behind the Mellark home is a large field where Rosie and Martox usually play. It's raining the day I look out of my room and onto that field. But even the sheets of icy rain cannot disguise the threatening figure that descends from the sky. A Capitol hovercraft.

They've found me.


	14. Fourteen

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Part 3**

**THE PRESIDENT**

14

I grip the windowsill in fear and anger. Why couldn't they leave me alone? Why do they always have to chase me and put their mark on me?

I hear movement downstairs; doors slamming, raised voices, one of the children crying. But all these cease to exist the moment the door to the hovercraft opens and out steps a young woman with dark brown hair scraped back into a ponytail.

Madison Hawthorne.

Without thinking, I rush down the stairs and out of the back door. Madison has already been joined by Katniss and Peeta. They're speaking in hushed tones that stop all together when they see me stood in the doorway.

Madison rushes over to me, surprising me by jumping into my arms. I hurry to catch her, stumbling back slightly.

"Thank goodness you're alright," she gushes. "I thought if you'd gotten away then you would come here."

"Madison?" I question. "What's going on?"

She pulls away from me, her grey eyes shimmering with tears. "They said you killed yourself," she tells me. "But I couldn't believe it and then there was all that stuff about my father killing President Paylor and…" She suddenly stops. Her face hardens and she looks at me. For a second I fear the anger in her expression is aimed at me but before I can say anything she states, "The Capitol killed my father." She sounds as though she has put her grief behind her, choosing instead to channel it as anger. I wonder whether this is a trait they teach in the military.

"Why are you here, Madison?" I ask her, confused why she is the only one in the hovercraft. When did she learn to fly those things?

"It's a long story," she sighs.

Katniss and Peeta take us both inside and the four of us sit at the dining room table. Katniss gives the children some sleeping herbs as the sight of the hovercraft had frightened them. They sleep upstairs whilst we talk.

"As soon as you left to talk to President Paylor," Madison began, gratefully picking her way through some fresh bread Peeta had offered, "I started chatting to the cameramen. They were nice enough to show me how to use their equipment."

"What's that got to do with anything?" I can't help but ask.

"Well, I had been planning on asking them about their opinions on the Games – they're from the Capitol you see," she explains. "But then I got called up and I had to do the whole television thing with 2F." She pauses for a moment to eat but I can tell she's also preparing what else she has to say. "As soon as they had finished interviewing us, I got taken aside and told my father had murdered President Paylor." She pauses and takes in a shaky breath. Automatically, I reach over and take her hand that's lying on the table. I squeeze it reassuringly and she looks up at me with a grateful smile.

"You father didn't murder the President," I assured her. "Plutarch did." Madison's eyes widen as I continue, "Your father helped me to escape and Plutarch elected himself as President."

"But I thought the President had to be elected by the public," Peeta pointed out.

"They do and he was," Madison explains. "Everybody thought Plutarch would be the best choice because he is the king of television. The only other person they'd rather have was…" she pauses, turns to me and says, "you."

"Me?" I gasp. "Why me?"

"Because you're a familiar face," Madison shrugs, "Because people think you can run a country, because every woman – and some men – in the Capitol want you. I doubt it's the latter anyway."

"Stinking Capitol," Katniss seethes under her breath.

"But they said you'd killed yourself anyway," Madison goes on. "And they shot my father last week."

"I saw the murder," I explain. "I walked in on Plutarch slitting the President's throat and they were going to blame me. Gale helped me to escape. I've been travelling to District 12 for the last two months."

"I didn't think you were dead," Madison wonders aloud. "We all had a moment's silence for you in the Capitol – some even cried. But they never showed a coffin."

"Why did you want me though?" I ask. "Why have you come here?"

Madison's expression becomes bitter. "Because we need to stop the Games," she tells me. "That's what I've been doing. Over the past couple of months I've managed to seize a camera and a hovercraft. We're going round the Tribes and filming the distress that the Games cause. Once the public sees what is happening then maybe they'll vote against Plutarch."

"Or maybe they won't," Katniss points out.

"We have to try," Madison says. "The country is on the verge of going back to what it was before the Revolutionary War. If we don't do something then all those people will have died for nothing."

At this Peeta, Katniss and I all sit up straight. We all lost somebody in that war. We can't let their deaths go in vain. I think of the book in the living room.

"Let's do it," I say. "Who's coming?"

"Just me and you," Madison says sheepishly. "I didn't want to ask anybody else because I didn't think there was anybody else I could trust."

"Good idea," I assure her, communicating that there is no need to be embarrassed at having such a small crew for a trip around the world.

"I was wondering whether Katniss would like to come too," Madison ventures. She looks at them both. "And Peeta. You were both largely involved with the last rebellion that I thought…"

"No," Katniss answers her immediately. "We have children now. We can't get involve with this."

"I understand," Madison nods, though she looks disappointed, before turning to me. "We need to go as soon as possible. The Capitol think I've took the hovercraft on a test drive."

I head up the stairs to pack the few pieces of clothing I've collected over the week from Johanna and the Mellark family. I kiss Rosie and Martox on the cheeks as a goodbye and board the hovercraft with Madison.

Katniss and Peeta watch us leave. I sit in the cockpit with Madison as she drives the machine over Panem.

"How are we going to do this?" I ask.

"Simple," Madison says though her voice tells me it's anything but. "We are going to interview the Tribe's people. For those who don't speak our words then we're going to use picture cards."

"Picture cards?" I ask.

"Yeah," Madison nods. "It's how they teach the immigrants our words. I sat with 2F whilst she had a few lessons with her family. Basically, they will point to the cards to show how they feel about the Games; a happy face means they're okay with it and a sad face means they're not."

"Wow," I breathe. "You do know that some of these people may hate me," I add.

"Yes," Madison says it as though she's already thought of it. "But to have you on the footage; to show Panem you're still alive and fighting against the government's choices, well that's all we need to help us."

"What are we going to do with this footage, Madison?" I ask.

"Broadcast it to the world," Madison smiles. "I know I said I didn't trust anybody before but I have a few allies back in the Capitol who were willing to leave their broadcasting room empty for a few days just in case I needed to use it."

We're silent for a few more minutes.

"How are you Madison?" I ask, hoping she gets what I'm trying to ask.

"I miss him every day," she tells me, showing she knows what I mean. "But if I can do this then I know he'll be proud of me."

I wish I could say the same about my father.

(*)

Over the next two months, Madison and I travel the world. At first the people are angry with me but we instantly point out, using the cards, that I'm unhappy about the Games too. The people like being put on the camera – the equipment wins them over. It's then that I realize how uneducated these people are. I don't just want to stop the Games, I want to help them too.

During the days we talked to the Tribe's people and at night we talked to each other. This is the first time Madison as been out of Panem and she's both terrified and excited to see the rest of the world.

The people of Tribe 7 let us take part in their dances. Madison and I take a break from filming and trying to communicate with the people to let go and have some fun. We run around the group, laughing and cheering. The people throw cloths of beautiful colours over us as we continue to dance.

We help to fashion bowls for Tribe 1. I see the girl who warned me not to put sugar in the purple berries and toast her with a handful. She may not use the same words as me but she understands and laughs as we eat the sour berries together.

Tribe 9 welcomes Madison with open arms – she even trains them. They find training to fight very entertaining and love it when she uses me as her subject. Apparently me being thrown down repeatedly onto the ground is a riot for them.

In Tribe 4, we look out onto the wastelands that can never be entered again due to the nuclear weapons used in the Big War. From the top of a mountain we can look out and see the lands on the horizon and, just passed them, is the ocean. A place the people of Tribe 4 will never get to see.

We conclude our journey by sleeping in a tent the people of Tribe 10 had set up for us at short notice. The day had gone a lot easier because the people here speak many of the same words as the people of Panem do. I couldn't help but apologize to Aiden's family and friends though. They seemed forgiving but I knew, deep down, they would rather kill me too.

"When I was little, me and my dad went camping," Madison says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Tribe 10 is hot so we lie under separates blanket on some mats woven from leaves by the Tribe's people. I turn over onto my other side to face her. "Camping?" I question. "What's that?"

"It's more of a military thing," Madison explains. "But I think Dad found camping could be fun and not just somewhere to stay when they went away to war." She smiles distantly as she recalls the memory in her head. "We went out into the woods with a tent and stayed there for the entire weekend."

"Wow," is all I can say. "I wish I could reply with some sort of good memory too but a lot of my younger years were spent crying for my mother's attention." I instantly regret what I am saying and add, "Not that she could help it."

"I know," Madison says understandingly.

We stare at each other for a bit longer as I realize how much Madison understands me. We've been travelling the world for nearly a month now and we've grown closer every day. Without seeming to think, Madison reaches across to me and strokes my cheek with her finger. Also without thinking, I reach over and kiss her deeply. It's an automatic reaction, something that has never felt so right in my life. I remember my first kiss when I was thirteen with Percebelle Hawford in school; all the kisses I'd shared with other girls; that fan that got a bit too close; my kisses with Britney. They all pale in comparison to this.

"Madison," I gasp pulling away, feeling the need to say something.

"Ssh," she says, pulling at me so I'm lying on top of her. "Let's not talk about this, Fin," she says. "I don't want to talk tonight."

I want to say something more but when her lips meet mine again, I decide to just do as she wants. Slowly we undress, the cool air of Tribe 10 doing nothing to slow down our overheating bodies. I kiss Madison harder hoping to convey what I feel for her without the use of words.

I kiss her tears away, murmuring to her how thankful I am to have her here with me, how grateful I am that she understands me.

I realize two things that night.

I am her first.

I want to be her last.

(*)

Gale asked me to take care of Madison. It was the last thing he said to me. As I wake up with her in my arms, realizing we have to return to the Capitol today, I promise myself to do just that. This is the most dangerous part of our task. For all we know the Capitol could shoot us out of the sky as soon as we enter their airspace. I don't voice my fears to Madison when she wakes up.

She blushes when she realizes our position and pushes away from me, trying to slip her clothes on. I sit up behind her and wrap my arms around her.

"Big day today," I say, kissing her neck. She immediately relaxes and I wonder whether she thought last night was just a onetime thing.

"Yes it is," she says, allowing herself to relax in my embrace. "We need to get moving." We separate reluctantly and dress. The Tribe's people offer us a breakfast of fish before we leave and we thank them earnestly.

"Please stop this," one woman says to me. It takes a little bit longer for me to reply because of the Tribe's unusual accent but I nod at her. It isn't a definite 'yes' nod but it means I will try.

We're silent on the journey home but we do hold hands for the most part of it. Fifteen hours later, we touch down onto the Military landing space in the Capitol. I can't see anything but the runway lights in the darkness outside. The engines cut off leaving us in silence.

"At least they didn't shoot us out of the sky," Madison says, smiling weakly. So she was thinking the same as me then.

"I'll go first," I say, though I take her hand in mine and give her a quick kiss before leading her off the hovercraft.

Just as I have been secretly expecting, we are met with flashing lights and loud shouts as the military jump out of hiding. A few hundred meters away I see the lights of the hovercraft office but everywhere else around me is dark except for the torch beams being shone into my eyes. I try to shield them with a hand whilst, at the same time, trying to keep Madison behind me.

"Hands in the air!" the new General of the military commands. I feel a stab of sadness in my chest as the man reminds me of Gale. Only because of his job, of course, this new General is bitter and hard in personality unlike Gale who was only like that in profession.

I put my hands in the air but it seems I am too slow as one of the guards fires something into my leg. A shooting pain travels up from my thigh downwards before it goes numb and I slump against the doorway of the hovercraft, letting go of Madison's hand. She screams as a dart hits her too and another one is fired into my other leg. I can't fight the two guards that pick us up and carry us away from the runway. I hear Madison taking deep shaky breaths so as not to cry. But I just feel as numb as my legs.

We're carried into the President's mansion and thrown down onto two armchairs. Even through my fear at being arrested, I still register the soft comfort of the seat. I look over at Madison who is looking at me and give her a weak smile. I know better than to reach over and take her hand. They'd probably only cut them off us to prevent it.

The guards situate themselves around the room in silence and then they are still, waiting for somebody. I realize we are in the President's Office. A large oak desk, similar to the one I saw Paylor's body slumped on, is in the middle of one side of the room. The carpet is a deep red and the cramped bookshelves that line the room match the desk. I wonder what those books are full of; probably profiles on every person in Panem.

Finally the person we have been waiting for arrives. Plutarch – or President Plutarch as he is now called. He hasn't changed much, his hair is still stylishly grey and his skin is tanned and wrinkle-free. He wears a heavy purple jacket that looks more like a dressing gown made of sofa material. He doesn't look President-like though. He doesn't walk with his head held high as I would expect him to.

"Fin," he begins, disappointed. He sits down behind the desk and brings his fingers together at the tips as he looks at me. "I must say, I didn't expect to see you again. I at the very least hoped you to have died in the woods. Tell me, how did you survive?"

"Sheer will and determination," I manage to say. My voice feels as weak as my legs.

"Really?" Plutarch asks, arching an eyebrow in surprise. "Because, if you ask me, I would have thought it was down to the skills you learned whilst watching the Hunger Games." He leans forward and smiles at me. "It's a good thing they were brought back isn't it?"

"How can you do this?" Madison suddenly asks, surprising me by finding her voice. "How can you bring back what you fought for so many years to destroy?" A guard lurches forward. I dread to think what he will do to her but Plutarch holds up a hand to stop him.

"Miss Hawthorne," he says. "I fought hard to stop the starvation of the Districts. Stopping the Hunger Games was a bonus but my main intention was to bring down the unfair government of the Capitol." He pauses, contemplating. "These Hunger Games aren't even killing people."

"Yes they are!" Madison cries. Plutarch doesn't stop a guard from slapping her across the face this time.

"We've seen the devastation they cause," I continue for her, "Mothers mourning their children." I get a slap too but I try to ignore the sting, try to get through to him, "Siblings losing their only family." Another slap. "Fathers upset that they cannot protect their loved ones!" I finally scream before I'm punched in the face. My head falls forward, defeated.

"Stop!" Plutarch orders. The guards freeze and turn to him in shock, as do Madison and I. I'm too realistic to hope that I have struck a nerve with him. "I want to talk to the two of them alone." The guards exchange wary glances before leaving us in peace. Maybe I _have_ struck a nerve.

Plutarch looks between the two of us, a look of agony on his face. I haven't ever seen him look like this.

"You don't understand," he tells us. "I have to do this or my family will get hurt."

"What do you mean?" Madison asks. I'm glad she is talking because my jaw aches too much after that last punch. My mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood. I resist the urge to gag.

"She has my family," Plutarch says desperately. "She's kept them under her guard for years now. I had to keep them safe."

"Who's she?" Madison asks, confused but hopeful. If we can win Plutarch over then maybe we can stop the Capitol from hurting the Tribe's people. And us. However, I find it hard to believe that Plutarch – who was once controlling Britney – is being controlled too.

"She took them away from me all those years ago and if I don't do as she says then they'll die." He stops suddenly, pressing his lips together. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I just want to let you know that it's not me who's doing the talking here."

"Well, you're very convincing," I manage to choke out, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the red carpet.

"Fin-" Plutarch begins but the double doors of the Office burst open and we all turn towards the entrance.

A woman with long hair down to her waist – so blonde it's almost white – stands there with her hands on her hips and anger in her sharp features. Her blue eyes scan the scene and I gasp as I realize who she is.

Aberdeen Snow, the last winner of the Hunger Games.


	15. Fifteen

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

15

Aberdeen stands there all in black, making her white skin look so much paler. She strolls into the room, heavy black boots making dents in the thick carpet. Both Madison and I watch her in awe but not fear – not yet.

Aberdeen Snow had been lethal in the last Hunger Games which had involved the children of the government's top officials. Everybody knew she hadn't been picked out of a draw like everybody else – they had targeted her for being the granddaughter of President Snow. What everybody didn't know, however, was that President Snow liked to train his family too just in case they were threatened and alone without their bodyguards. Aberdeen killed most of the twenty-three other tributes in less than three days.

And then she disappeared. The fact that she was related to the evilest president that ever ruled Panem – as President Snow is now seen – made her hated anyway. The fact she had mercilessly killed children like her father had made her despised. Rumor has it, she went underground and, judging by the white of her skin, it seems the rumors have been true. But Aberdeen had been pale before. At sixteen she had paid to have her skin de-pigmented because she thought it looked good to match her surname. She was thrown into the arena a week later, practically glowing she was so pale.

"Plutarch, darling," she trawls in a voice that vaguely reminds me of Darcy Williams. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet about our arrangement?" She walks over to him, trailing her hand over his chest she circles him. Her eyes scare me. They are such a pale blue that it makes me wonder whether or not she is half-blind. The hand on the chest looks more like she's dominating him than being friendly. Plutarch swallows hard.

"I'm sorry, Miss," he says. "It was a slip of the tongue. It won't happen again."

"Too late," Aberdeen hisses. Plutarch gasps and looks at her in fear. "Tell me, Heavensbee," she spits. "What did you first do when Lilac was born?" He looks panicked like he can't even remember but she doesn't wait for an answer. "I can imagine any respectable father would count the fingers and the toes?" She raises her voice like a question. Plutarch suddenly lets out a sob but tries to keep his posture. "Next time daddy sees Lilac," Aberdeen smiles sickly sweet. "She might have a few missing."

Madison gives out a cry at that and I glare at Aberdeen with so much hatred, I can imagine her burning up in it.

"Well, since you started your little story," Aberdeen says, suddenly pleasant. "Why don't we continue?"

"Please no, Miss!" Plutarch begs. "I promise it won't happen again. Please don't."

I look up at Plutarch in confusion. Why does he sound like he is begging for his life?

"It all started twenty years ago," Aberdeen says, her voice sounding like she is reading to a group of toddlers. "I was eighteen and pissed that the Rebellion left my family with no power and no Grandfather." She looks at me, her face sympathetic. "Then again, at least I knew my grandfather." Her tone and her implication annoys me and I find myself lunging for her. My legs are still asleep though and I fall to the ground. She laughs though it sounds more like a cackle. I roll onto my back so I can see her.

"Putting me into that arena was the biggest mistake those damn victors could have made," she continues, perching on the edge of the desk. Her ridiculously short black skirt rides up to show even more of her ghastly pale thighs. "So, naturally, I want revenge." She pauses and smiles to her audience. I resist the urge to try and go after again. Plutarch is now standing with his head down as though he is expecting something.

"The plan started off simple. I'd get control of Panem again. That's all I ever wanted and I had loads of ways to do it." She walks over to me and hoists me up by the front of my shirt, throwing me back into the armchair with surprising strength. She smiles, lips painted in a deep red, to reveal two rows of perfectly whitened teeth. They look yellow compared to her skin though. "I could always kill the President and start a rebellion of my own," she muses, walking her fingers up my chest. What is she playing at? "But that sounded so boring and unoriginal." She rolls her eyes. "I could have gone down the prostitution route just like your daddy," she says, surprising me. "You wouldn't believe how many government officials would become your allies for just a few hours of your time."

"What did you say?" I ask, breathing deeply to control my anger. I'm split down the middle; half of me is so angry at her for taking a jibe at my father; the other half is frozen in shock at what she said, it seemed too random to be a jibe.

"Did Mommy not tell you?" Aberdeen asks with a dramatic gasp. Everything about her is so staged as though she's been planning this for a long time – because she has. She's had twenty years to work on this moment. "Daddy used to love the ladies," she giggles. "He was a user. Mind you," she adds, moving so she is straddling me. I focus on feeling her weight on legs; that shows the feeling is coming back into them, "You could be just the same. You look so much like him. It's a shame about the eyes though. He had the prettiest eyes and yours are nothing but a dull green."

"Shut up, Aberdeen," Madison hisses from beside us. We both turn to look at her, she is fuming. So am I when I realize by insulting my eyes she had insulted my mother's.

"Quiet, bitch," Aberdeen spits.

"Don't you dare talk to her like that," I find myself growling, sitting up so my face is inches from hers. She slaps me, her long nails dragging against my skin. I bite my tongue to hold in a cry as my cheek burns with pain.

"As I was saying," she continues with her sick little tale, thankfully getting off me, "I had plenty of ways to get what I wanted but then I remembered my favorite game when I was a little girl." She pauses as though for dramatic effect. "Puppets," she announces, beaming. "Did you enjoy being my puppet, Plutarch?"

Plutarch doesn't answer. He's clearly been around her enough to know when and when not to answer her stupid little questions. I feel bad for every bad thing I've ever thought about him. Katniss was right; Plutarch is a loyal man. He had endured years of this to save his family. It's just a shame he wasn't loyal to the right thing; that he didn't care about the people who were going to die because of it all.

Plutarch had no choice. He was going to lose right away. He did what he thought was right by protecting his family and serving Aberdeen. I have to respect him for that.

"By holding his family hostage I could do with Plutarch what I wanted. And what I wanted was simple; to be the President. Having the Head of Communications at my beck and call would easily secure me a place as the most powerful woman in the country. But then all these new people started to arrive; the immigrants and I thought that instead of being the most powerful woman in the country, I could be the most powerful woman in the world.

"They say, before the Big War, there were plenty of books with stories about villains trying to take over the world," she says, changing her train of thought. "I don't know whether I believe it or not. If there were so many stories like that out there then why did nobody try them? Hm?" She giggles. "The Hunger Games was all my idea, Fin," she tells me as though I am a stupid child. "You all either blamed Paylor or Plutarch just as I planned and now I will take over the President's chair – after more than twenty years of planning."

She rubs a white hand over her white skin. "Of course, living underground all these years did have its disadvantages."

"You can't become the President," I say, "You have to be elected by the public."

"Unless the previous President's will says otherwise," Aberdeen reminds me. Plutarch swallows loudly but doesn't sob. Aberdeen pouts at him. "Poor Plutarch," she patronizes, "Did you really think you would be getting yourself out of this? Your family should already be six feet under by now. Why don't you join them? I hear people don't last too long when they're choking on dirt." Plutarch can't hold back his next sob. Neither can Madison and I at the thought of Aberdeen and her guards burying people alive.

Both of us are unprepared when Aberdeen throws Plutarch to the ground with surprising force. The man has lost the will to fight and I don't blame him. I hope he goes quickly when Aberdeen's sharp heel comes down onto his neck. The sound of bone snapping echoes around the room and blood pours out of the gaping wound, staining the carpet a deeper red.

Madison is taking shaky breaths; I'm in shock. And Aberdeen isn't finishes just yet.

"Behold," she cackles, stepping off Plutarch's body and holding her white arms in the air, "Your new President Snow!"

As if on cue, six burly guards I have never seen before storm into the room and stand at attention awaiting her orders. Even though most of them have changed over the years, I vaguely recognize them as the other children of the government officials – the ones who escaped the Reaping but lost friends and siblings. Aberdeen had been right about one thing; holding that last Hunger Games had been the biggest mistake ever. I wonder what my mother had voted on it. I can't look down on her if she had voted yes – not after all I've done.

"Strip the girl down," Aberdeen orders.

"What?" I cry as Madison screams in protest when three guards grab her and start pulling at her clothes.

"Calm down, Fin," she smiles. "You'll get your turn." The other three guards hold me down. Even if all the feeling had returned to my legs, I never would be able to stop the others.

"Twenty-three lashes," Aberdeen drawls as though she is bored, "One for all the tributes who died in the last Hunger Games. And then send them to the cells where they can rot. Fin's already dead to the public; Madison killed Plutarch so she'll never see the light of day again. Like father like daughter, eh?" Madison screams again though this time in anger. "That was me too by the way. I threatened Mawden's head that time."

I don't know how but I'm aware that Mawden is – or was – Plutarch's wife.

Naked, Madison is held by two guards as one produces a whip from his belt and flicks her bare skin with it. She screams in agony. Those are three different screams from her that I never want to hear again. I'm aware of hot tears running down my face. I try to turn away but even that can't muffle her screams, and the image of blood seeping out of that first cut is burned into my memory.

"Hopefully she'll pass out soon," Aberdeen shrugs, pausing as she waits for Madison to stop screaming again. "And she won't have to endure watching yours."

She grins evilly again and cocks her head the side, looking me over. "Just be thankful your mother killed herself when she did, Fin," she says, "Because otherwise things would be so much worse."

(*)

The cell is cold against my bare skin. I'm conscious for a second to register that fact before the lights go out again.

I'm six years old and looking through the crack in the door at who my mommy is talking to. It's a tall lady dressed in black with hair so light blonde it looks white.

"I don't care how you do it," she is saying calmly. "Just get rid of yourself."

"What will you do to him?" Mommy says, sounding scared. I want to help her but she told me to wait outside. I don't want to make her more upset by letting her know I am disobeying her orders.

"It won't be as bad as what I will do if you don't go," the white lady says it as though she's promising something.

"He'll thank you for it you know," the white lady continues, "Not that you'll be around for him to thank but when he has all the power he wants, he'll be grateful that his mother got herself out of the picture when she did."

"But-" Mommy is trying to speak but the other lady won't let her.

"You have two years before I come and kill you both."

I hurry away from the door and back out onto the deck as the other lady turns and heads in my direction. I pretend I haven't heard anything. I don't know what they're talking about anyway.

Grown-ups say the silliest of things.

I don't know how long I'm out for but when I come to, I notice somebody is watching me through the bars of the cell I inhabit.

"Where's Madison?" I ask between gasps for breath. Days must have passed because my body feels weak and malnourished. My throat is like sandpaper.

"We've got her." I start at the familiarity of the voice, and look up to find Britney staring down at me. Her eyes show unshed tears. She blinks and one escapes. "Let's get you out of here, Fin."

"How?" I ask. "I thought you were working for Aberdeen."

"I didn't know she was involved," Britney says honestly, "Only Plutarch knew about her."

"She killed my mother," I say bluntly, remembering the repressed memory that came to light when I was unconscious.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Britney says. The lights go dim again and I'm aware of Britney calling for somebody. I can hear the lock on my cell door clunking against the metal of the bars.

I think of Madison and how Britney told me they'd got her. She's safe. She's going to be okay. The pain from the lashes is no longer present in my body. I feel like I'm flying. Despite being naked on the cold floor, I feel warm and safe.

If this is what it feels like to die then who am I to complain?


	16. Sixteen

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

16

Shortly after the white lady's visit, Mother took me to the market. At first, I thought she was taking me to buy some ingredients for dinner with her but when we walked straight past the fish stall and through the market place, I realized we weren't going there at all.

In the town centre of District 4 stands a large monument I had always thought was shaped like a giant headstone. That's because that's what it is. My mother took me to the far side of the monument and pointed to two words that were at my eye level.

"That's your daddy," she said. "These are the names of all the people from District 4 who died in the war."

"Daddy?" I repeated, reaching towards the name and tracing it with my fingers.

"Your daddy was a hero," my mother told me, crouching down and hugging me to her. "I love you so much, Fin," she told me out of the blue. She shifted me away from the gravestone a little so I was looking straight into her eyes. I remember that look being the clearest look she had ever given me, one that wasn't tainted by her unstable mind. "And no matter what I do, I want you to know it will always be for you."

(*)

"Welcome back, Fin."

It's not my mother's voice that is welcoming me back from my unconsciousness but Nurse Everdeen's. I'm in a room with bright white lights and I'm lying on a bed. I'm in a hospital. Nurse Everdeen is holding my hand, rubbing circles on the back of it to comfort me.

"What-?" I begin but my voice is hoarse.

"Try not to talk," she advises me. "You were in those cells for just under a week. Your body went into shock from the pain and you were very dehydrated. The doctors are looking after you now. You're in the Capitol Hospital. Britney called me to come up here. I've been so worried about you."

A doctor comes in then, assesses me and then leaves. Nurse Everdeen looks miffed.

"Think they're all high and mighty these doctors," she mutters almost to herself. "I've got a feeling to give them a good piece of my mind!"

I manage a weak smile.

"Mad-" I begin but she cuts me off to save me the pain of talking.

"She's doing fine," Nurse Everdeen says. "Don't worry about her. She's in safe hands. Her mother came down here with me."

"Snow-" I begin. Nurse Everdeen narrows her eyes, she doesn't seem to understand what I'm trying to say. "Snow – she – put – us – there – to – die. How – did–?"

"Aberdeen Snow is dead," Nurse Everdeen says suddenly.

That sentence is better than any morphling the doctors could give me. "How?" Nurse Everdeen gets up and makes me up a glass of water from a pitcher on the other side of the room. When she returns and hands it to me, I drink it all in one go. The effect is marvelous. My throat feels almost normal again. As she sits down though I realize she didn't just do it for my benefit. She needed time to gather her thoughts.

Nurse Everdeen looks so sad that I almost regret asking but then I feel anger rage inside of me. How could she be upset about Aberdeen dying?

"There was a riot," she says before I can embarrass myself by shouting at her. "Last week Aberdeen Snow came out to make her speech and the crowd descended on her."

I find it hard to imagine how that could have done any damage. "How long ago was this?" I ask.

"It's been two weeks since you were thrown in the cell and left to die," Nurse Everdeen explains, catching me up on everything as a whole. "You've been in the hospital unconscious for eight days. This riot happened nine days ago."

"What happened?" I ask. "Was it bad?"

Nurse Everdeen's eyes shimmer with tears. "Whilst Aberdeen was giving her speech, the crowd pushed forward. I think they were trying to crush her."

"Didn't her guards open fire?" I ask.

"Of course they did," Nurse Everdeen nods and I realize this is what has made her upset. "But they kept going and even when she ran backstage she swarmed after her. They attacked her guards and crushed her as they had wanted. Then we searched the mansion and found you. Some of the mentors who were friends of Madison's were looking for her. They saw her hovercraft land but hadn't seen her. Of course everybody was surprised when Britney found you."

"Britney?" I croak, remembering her face peering out towards me in the dark through my cell bars.

"Madison kept talking about you when they were rescuing her but the guards thought she was just grieving. Britney was the only one who believed you were down there, that you were alive. Fin, I thought I'd lost you." She breaks down then, tears spilling freely from her eyes.

In all my life I have never seen Nurse Everdeen cry. She has always been the strong one, the one that kept our small family together, who kept my mother going even when she didn't want to. She even blames herself for not being there when Mother walked into the ocean.

Ignoring the pain that fires up my arm, I reach out and stroke her hair as she cries into the side of my bed. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," I tell her. "I wish I could have told you but Katniss wouldn't let me. She said they'd kill you too."

"They probably would," Nurse Everdeen agrees. "And I shouldn't be like this, I'm sorry. Fin, 495 people died during that riot."

My hand falls back to the bed in shock. Anger rushed through me as though I've been electrocuted before it fades, leaving me numb. "Yet more people who shouldn't have died," I mutter.

"The Guardians want to talk to you," Nurse Everdeen says. "When do you want to speak to them?"

"In a bit," I tell her. "But first I want to talk to you."

"About what?" she asks, reaching out and brushing my hair from my sweaty forehead. My morphling's beginning to wear off.

"Who's the President now?" I ask, surprised that after twenty years of Paylor, the country will have had three different Presidents in a year.

"Nobody yet," Nurse Everdeen says. "The government officials are in talks about who to elect."

"Nurse Everdeen," I begin hesitantly, unsure how to ask what I want to know. "Is it true about my father?"

"Is what true?" she asks, genuinely confused. She looks surprised that I am asking her about my father at all.

"Was he a…" my mouth dries suddenly as I try to form the terrible word, "A whore?"

Nurse Everdeen doesn't gasp or recoil in shock or disgust. She just blinks at me. I know it's true then but I want to hear what she has to say. "Who told you?" she asks gently.

"Aberdeen," I answer. "At first I thought she was just trying to get at me but the way she said it…"

"Finnick did what he had to do to survive," Nurse Everdeen says. "The government – President Snow – would have killed him had he not done what he asked."

"And what did he ask?" I ask, wanting to know everything at once so I wouldn't have to bring this topic up ever again.

"For Finnick to…accompany his fans whenever they paid for it," Nurse Everdeen explains neatly. "If Finnick didn't do as he asked then Annie would have been hurt to."

"Did Mother know?"

Nurse Everdeen hesitates, as though she knows the answer but is unsure how to voice it. "He tried to keep it from her the best he could," she says eventually. "But Annie wasn't a fool. She did, however, love him enough to trust that whatever he was doing he was doing for the good."

"But what he was doing was a bad thing," I protest.

"Just like you," Nurse Everdeen reminds me gently. "You were doing a bad thing but in the end it was for the greater good."

"Are you talking about the Hunger Games?" I ask.

"Yes," Nurse Everdeen nods. "Not that I think they are a greater good but there are those out there would believe they are."

"I always thought my father was a hero," I admit.

"He was, and he always will be," Nurse Everdeen says it as though she is scolding me. "Finnick was only human at the end of the day. He made mistakes just like you and I do."

"Nurse Everdeen," I begin again, wanting to approach another touchy topic but being unsure how to do it.

She looks at me, an eyebrow arched as she waits for me to pluck up the courage and ask her.

"Why do you not talk to Katniss?" I ask.

Nurse Everdeen takes in a sharp breath. I have caught her by surprise.

"I fell out with Katniss a long time ago," she explains. "In a way, I blamed her for Prim's death. Prim was my daughter," she adds by way of explanation.

"I know," I say. "Katniss told me what happened to her," I explain when she frowns at me.

"Do you still hate her?" I ask, wanting to keep her talking and hoping she is not angry with me for delving in her private life.

"No I don't," Nurse Everdeen admits, "Though I do not know how I will even begin to apologize to her after all the upset I've caused."

"I'm sure she'll forgive you," I say. "Life's too short."

"Exactly," Nurse Everdeen agrees, nodding. "Life is too short," she repeats.

"I'm tired," I murmur.

"Then you'd better get some rest," she says, walking away and leaving the room as I feel my eyes begin to close again.

(*)

The next time I wake up the sky outside my room is pitch black and I can hear hushed voices outside my hospital room door. I can't make out what they're saying but I can see Nurse Everdeen through the blinds and hear the high-pitched tone of her annoyed voice.

Eventually the door clicks open and she stands in the doorway looking me over. "The Guardians want to speak to you," she says bitterly. "Are you up to it?"

"Yes," I say immediately and attempt to sit up. I end up doing nothing but sending a shooting pain across my ribs. Nurse Everdeen rolls her eyes and hurried over to help me sit up comfortably.

The Guardians file in one by one, each wearing the stark white uniform of the Capitol. All five of them are men, and one carried a notebook and pen.

"Mr. Odair, we're here to interview you," the bald one says. "Doctors say your mental health is at an acceptable standard and we would like to go over the events of what happened two weeks ago."

"Okay," I say. The Guardians all look to Nurse Everdeen then who sighs and heads towards the door. "Nurse Everdeen!" I call after her. She stops and turns, looking almost worried that I have call her. "Is Madison okay?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "Stop your fretting," she says. "Madison is in better condition than you." But there is a look in her eyes that worries me. Before I can ask, however, she slips quietly out of the room. The door clicks shut behind her.

"Mr. Odair, would you please go over the night in question," the bald Guardian says with so much authority I don't even sigh with exasperation.

"Madison and I landed the hovercraft at the Landing Station," I begin but already they interrupt me.

"What were you doing in the hovercraft?"

So I explain to them Madison's plan of interviewing the Tribe's people, of trying to end the Hunger Games. They listen with interest because, apparently, all of them had believed the suicide story the government had spun out.

As I talk more about her, I realize how desperate I am to see Madison. Even Nurse Everdeen if keeping her condition secret. I want to be done with the Guardians as soon as possible so I can see her again.

"And what happened when you reached the President's Office?"

So I tell them that too, trying to ignore Madison's screams of pain as she was whipped again and again. I haven't seen my own body yet though I know it's covered in bandages. I hope the wounds don't scar too much. I don't want a reminder of that day.

"Aberdeen was behind it all," I tell them, letting my anger roll out of me this way. "She kidnapped Plutarch's family meaning he would do whatever she wanted. He convinced Paylor to bring back the Hunger Games; she herself convinced my mother to kill herself so she would be out of the picture and I would be on my own. She wanted me to represent the Hunger Games and she needed me to have no outside influence. I don't think she banked on Nurse Everdeen." I smile for a moment, thinking of how strong Nurse Everdeen is to have been through all that she has been through and still be strong enough for me to depend on. "Obviously me walking in on Plutarch killing Paylor was better than she had hoped for. But in the end she wanted to become queen of the world and I think she would have killed us all in the end anyway; me, Plutarch, Paylor, Madison, Britney. But those 495 people stood in her way." I smile again, wanting to let the Guardians know how proud I am of all those Capitol citizens.

"Is there anything else?" I ask.

The Guardians seem too stunned to say anything. Eventually the bald man says, "No, that will be all, thank you, Mr. Odair."

They leave and I'm left alone once again. I try to stay awake in case Nurse Everdeen comes to check on me and I can ask about Madison but the interview has gotten the best of me and my eyes droop shut once more.

(*)

The following days are a mixture of slipping in and out of unconsciousness, talking to Nurse Everdeen and asking for Madison. They still won't let me see her. After a week of begging, a woman I've never seen before walks into my room.

Still, I know who she is the moment I see her straight brown hair – the same texture as Madison's.

"I'm Belle Hawthorne," she introduces herself.

"Fin," I offer my hand but drop it after she doesn't shake it.

"I know," she replies.

I wait for her to explain why she is here but after the silence drags on I realize she doesn't plan on saying anything more. Weakly I offer, "I'm sorry about your husband. He was a good man."

"Yes he was," she says curtly. "He had to be to sacrifice his life for you." She says it with almost disgust and I resist the urge to tell her about my father saving his life. It would only lead to a petty argument.

"Have they told you about Madison?" she asks.

I feel my heart start to race in panic. "No," I say. "What's happened?"

"Oh, I think you know what's happened," Belle says sounding as though she would like nothing more than to punch me in my just-healed ribs. "Madison is pregnant."


	17. Seventeen

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

17

I feel my stomach drop in both shock and relief. At least she's not in any danger like I had thought she'd been. Still, I can't believe it. Pregnant?

"That's why you've not been able to see her. She's on total bed rest after nearly suffering a miscarriage."

I can't say anything. I just stare at her. My mouth is suddenly dry. I try to form words but I can't even think of anything to say.

"She's told me it's yours," she continues matter-of-factly. "She thought you had the right to know though I can't see why." And then she walks away, leaving me alone to digest the news by myself.

Belle is not a vile woman. She just blames me for the death of her husband and for nearly losing her daughter. She has every right to be mad at me right now but I still would appreciate it if she came back and talked to me. How was Madison doing? Was she happy about the baby? Baby. We are having a baby.

I'm still in shock when Nurse Everdeen comes to visit me. She helps me up out of bed and walks around the room with me, helping me with my balance. It still hurts to move a lot but my pain today is numbed by the shock of Belle's announcement.

"Did you know?" I ask suddenly as she sets me back down in my chair next to my bed. She knows I prefer sitting to lying down.

"Know what?" she asks casually, no doubt thinking my random question was just a side effect of the medication I am taking.

"About the baby," I say. Now that I've thought about it as a baby, I can't think of it as anything else.

Nurse Everdeen freezes, giving me my answer straight away. I now understand why she was so hesitant about informing me about Madison's condition.

"Why didn't you tell me? I ask.

"Because you had enough to deal with already," she says matter-of-factly, busying herself with changing my sheets despite the fact they are clean enough. "It's a nice day today. Shall we see if the doctors will let you outside?"

She's trying to change the subject but at the moment I can't think about the fact that I haven't seen the sun since Tribe 10, all I can think about is Madison and our baby.

"Nurse Everdeen," I plead, silently asking her to tell me the truth.

She eventually sighs, stops messing about with the bed linen and looks me in the eye. "I didn't know how you would react," she explains. "And for a few days it was touch and go whether she'd lose it or not but they both held on. That baby's a fighter."

"Just like its mother," I smile, trying to ignore the fact that Nurse Everdeen had hinted she would not have told me Madison was pregnant if she had lost the baby. I want to see her more than ever now.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Fin," Nurse Everdeen sighs. "You've fought long and hard through this too."

"Not really," I disagree. "I just went along with everything like Aberdeen's puppet. Everybody must hate me now."

"You'd be surprised," she mutters under her breath. I get the hint she is keeping something from me again but before I can ask her she says, "How about we take you down to see Madison then?"

Everything else is forgotten as she wheels me down the corridors and into Madison's room. She's propped up against white pillows that shine against the dull complexion of her skin. Her face lights up, however, when she sees me. Seeing her again combined with the fact she is pleased to see me warms the dull ache that had been permanent in my chest since news of how many people had died whilst trying to kill Aberdeen.

"Fin!" she cries happily, reaching her hand towards me. Nurse Everdeen rolls me over so I can hold hands with her before leaving us in peace. "I'm so glad to see you," Madison beams.

"Same here," I smile, holding her hand to my face and laying kisses all over her wrist. "I heard about the news," I tell her, smiling even wider.

Her face falls into a frown as she thinks about what I could be talking about before she gasps in realization. "The pregnancy?" she asks. I nod, still smiling like a fool. She scans my face before breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought you'd be angry," she admits quietly.

"Why?" I ask, shocked.

"Because we have enough to deal with already," she tells me. "First everybody in the country is talking about you being alive when everybody thought you were dead. Then there's Aberdeen's death and the whole country is in chaos because they still haven't decided who to elect."

"That's got nothing to do with us," I tell her, gently laying a hand on her stomach. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

Madison giggles, swatting my hands away. "Snap out of it, Fin," she says, "You need to keep your head straight. For another thing, my mother isn't particularly fond of you right now."

"Oh I know," I say lazily. "She came to see me before. You have her hair." I feel drunk from happiness especially when Madison giggles again.

"I love you," I tell her honestly, realizing it is the first time I have said it.

"I love you too," she replies making my heart soar.

However my happiness is short-lived when Nurse Everdeen returns to Madison's room with Belle Hawthorne in tow. Belle narrows her eyes at me whilst Nurse Everdeen looks me over with concern.

"The government officials are here," she informs me. "They want to see you."

"Me?" I ask. "Why?"

Nurse Everdeen doesn't respond but rolls me away from Madison's bed and back down the corridors. I try to ask what's going on but her grim expression tells me not to. We don't go back to my room as I first expected we would. Instead she wheels me into a conference-like room which shares the same white theme as the rest of the hospital. Even the long table is such a pale wood that it looks white.

On one side of the table, facing the door, sit five men in fancy suits. I know they're from the Capitol by the way that they sit but they look relatively natural.

"Finnick Odair Jr.," the middle man – the eldest – acknowledges me with a nod of his head. He looks pointedly to Nurse Everdeen who makes her apologies and hurries out of the door leaving me with them on my own. I wouldn't have minded had I been dressed in something more than a paper thin hospital gown.

"It's just Fin," is the first thing I say because them calling me by my full name reminds me of Johanna. I wonder how she is doing.

"Very well," the oldest says as if I've disappointed him already. He leans forward on the table, arching his fingers and touching them at the tip just as Plutarch used to do. "As you know, the country is in a state with no new President being elected." I nod, letting them know I've been keeping up on the news. The country has been without a leader for over two weeks now.

"There have been talks on who the public would like to see elected," the man to his right continues. He's much shorter than any of the others. "And the public all seem to want the same thing."

I don't like were this is going. I know exactly what he's going to say before the oldest man says it.

"They want you to become the new President, _Fin_."

I sigh, wincing slightly as I hurt my ribs. I should have seen this coming when I realized the government were being too slow on electing another leader.

"Are you asking me outright if I want to do it?" I ask.

"You don't have a choice," the eldest tells me. "The public want nobody else."

I think of all that I have done over the past year. How could they want somebody like me leading the country? Are things really that desperate?

"What if I refuse?" I ask.

"Then you will have let the country down," he states plainly.

I stare at him. I had been expecting him to force me into the position but when he put it like that I realize I can't really refuse this. He is telling me this is what is best for the country. And maybe he is right.

"You have until tomorrow to think about it," the shorter man tells me. The other three nod in agreement. "We will return tomorrow noon for your decision. I hope you make the right choice."

They're not forcing me to do this; no contract has been thrust upon me. This is my choice. Maybe the Capitol is changing after all.

(*)

I wake up the next day to find Britney sitting in the chair beside my bed.

"Good morning," she greets me in her tribal accent, smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," I say, sitting up slowly and running a hand through my hair. Normally Katrina keeps it short and neat but I haven't had a stylist in ages now and it's starting to get a bit crazy.

"Have the government officials spoken to you yet?" she asks, back in the Capitol accent.

I look her over. "You already know they have," I say without even knowing how I know.

"Yes I do," she sighs. "I'm working for the government now but I came here via freewill. I swear."

"So you're not going to trick me into signing another contract?" I ask.

Her smile falters. "I did what I had to do, Fin," she says. "Please don't judge me on that one decision."

"Right," I mutter. "Forgive and forget. Got it."

"You could really make up for all your wrongdoings by becoming President," she says. I stare at her.

"What do you mean by wrongdoings?" I ask.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Come on, Fin," she says. "We both know you think you're the walking devil right now but this could be a way to make up for everything."

"How?" I ask. "Running a country isn't an easy thing you know."

"I know," she says. "But you can end the Hunger Games…again."

"You mean they haven't stopped them?" I ask, bewildered.

"Construction is still going on for the other arenas," she informs me, "Unless somebody with the right power says 'no' the Games will continue." She cocks her head to the side, looking me over. "Isn't this what you wanted to do all along?" she asks. "Stop the second generation of the Games?"

"Of course it is," I say. "But to lead the country?"

"You could help the Tribes," she says in a quiet voice. "I know for a fact the Officials just want to sever all ties with the rest of the world but you could help them."

I think of how Britney had talked me into representing the Games in the first place. Maybe this is her reparation as much as mine. If she can talk me into representing something good then it will make up for her wrongdoings too.

"Your parents would be proud of you," she says suddenly. "As would your child."

"How do you know?" I ask, referring to the knowledge she has of Madison's pregnancy.

Britney smiles, understanding what I mean she says, "Madison's been spreading the news all over the hospital. Her mom isn't too best pleased."

I smile at the thought of Madison being so happy. "Does she know?" I ask, "About the Officials asking me?"

"No," Britney says, "It's all hush-hush at the moment."

"My head hurts."

"I'd say sleep on it but you've done enough of that already," she says, getting up and leaving. "I'll let you think. The Officials will be here in an hour."

I spend that hour going over everything in my head. I think of Britney and how frightened she must have been when Plutarch kidnapped her brother under Aberdeen's orders. I think of how much Plutarch suffered over twenty years; how his children would have been brought up in captivity before being so cruelly left to die underground. I think of how the Games messed up Aberdeen's mind; I wonder if she would be the same had the victors voted 'no' to the last Hunger Games. I think of the most recent Hunger Games and the people who died in that arena. I think of Aiden's mother asking me to stop the Games. I think of 2F winning and how happy she was to win a life in Panem. I think of the uneducated people of the Tribes; how they rely solely on their instincts and how some of them starve to death.

I think about my mother; what she would want me to do. She had killed herself under Aberdeen's orders to protect me. I think about my father; whether or not he would have known about me before he went off to fight. I wonder what he would want me to do now. I think of Nurse Everdeen who lost so much in the Revolutionary War. I think of Johanna, Katniss and Peeta and how they saved my life. I think of Rosie and Martox, my own baby – I want the future to be safe and good for them.

In the end, it doesn't come down to what I want. I owe so much to so many people that I need to decide what's best for them. Maybe having a President who is from a District and not the Capitol would do the country some good. We certainly managed fine under Paylor's rules before she was murdered.

I am silent as Nurse Everdeen collects me and pushes me down into the conference room. She doesn't ask what I am thinking about. Maybe she doesn't want to know.

Before any of the five Government Officials can speak, I say in the loudest, clearest voice I have had since before the lashes, "I'll do it."

They seem delighted.

"But I want to make a few things clear first," I say. They nod and wait patiently for me to continue. "First, I want Katniss Everdeen to be unbanned from District 12," I say. There is a sharp intake of breath at this. But I continue, "She didn't do anything wrong to begin with, in my opinion. The way she tells me, President Coin killed her little sister."

"That is not fact!" the eldest Official roars suddenly. I've clearly touched a nerve. I wonder whether he came from District 13 and was a fan of the late President.

"Release her and I will do as you ask," I say, crossing my arms stubbornly.

"Fine." They reluctantly agree. "Anything else?"

"Yes," I say. "I want Johanna Mason of District 7 to be brought here. I want to introduce her to Katniss. She's gone a bit crazy living on her own." This is a simple wish and they grant it though I can tell they don't really care for Johanna nor my reasons behind bringing her here.

"Anything else?" they ask again.

"That's it for now," I say but then remember something, "Oh, actually I want to write my own speeches too," I add.

They reluctantly agree to this too though I can tell they are debating whether I am more trouble than I am actually worth.

(*)

The next few weeks are a blur of announcements and preparations. Madison is thrilled with the news saying I could finally make a difference and put not only the country but the world to rights. My decision to take control and not run away seems to have earned some respect for me in Belle's eyes too.

"You may be worth it after all," Belle tells me.

"I do love you daughter," I promise her. Madison has just gone to the bathroom – on her own which is a feat she is proud of – and we are talking in her now empty hospital room.

"I know you do," Belle sighs. "It's just that I'm so scared of losing her like I lost Gale. I'm from District 2, Fin, I lost both my parents in the War and my brother is also a Guardian. I'm so sick of war."

"There will be no more war," I say, gripping her hands. "I promise you."

That was the day I earned Belle's full respect.

Johanna and the Mellark family arrive at the Capitol in the next week. I don't get to see them as I prepare for everything but Nurse Everdeen tells me they are doing okay.

"That was a nice thing to do for Johanna," she says to me whilst I cross through another line. I'm sat in the hospital conference room, trying to work out a good speech.

"It was the least I could do," I say, without taking my eyes off my paper. "She saved my life."

Nurse Everdeen smiles, then wraps her arms around my shoulders and rests her chin on my head. The interaction is so motherly that I find myself choking back tears. It reminds me of the few days after my mother's death when Nurse Everdeen would find me crying at the kitchen table whilst looking out onto the sea. She'd hold me like this until I calmed down. Having had a mother who didn't hold me often, I didn't react well to full on hugs until much later.

"You did good, Fin," she tells me, her voice choked slightly. "You did good."


	18. Eighteen

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

18

Before long I am standing in front of the Capitol's people, in the same spot where all those people died killing Aberdeen just over a month ago. Everybody looks at me with expectation. Some are in awe; this is the first time they've seen me since the Capitol faked my death all those months ago.

"We have lost so much already," I begin, happy but nervous to be using my own words and not reading from an autocue, "It's time that we start helping each other rather than just degrading one another. From now on there shall be no more Hunger Games, no more starvation, and no more wars. Instead of turning those away who come to our borders for help, we will help them in their own countries. We cannot afford to stay selfish and independent. The Big War left so little of us alive that we have to revive ourselves or perish completely."

I glance over to the side of the stage where Madison is waiting unseen in the wings. One hand is placed lovingly over her bump, her engagement ring glinting in the light of the afternoon sun. She grins at me and I'm still smiling when I turn back to the crowd.

"From this day on, the hate is truly over."

It's not an award-winning speech that will be remembered in years to come but it's personal to me and to everybody here today. I leave the podium and the stage to a round of applause. Madison hugs me and kisses me.

"You did great," she says. "And there's somebody here to see you." I follow her into the President's mansion – my mansion – and into my new Office. I had the other Office sealed up. There is no way I can enter that room again after all the pain and death that went on in there. It took me some time to get used to living in the actual building.

Katniss has her back to me when I enter. She is looking out over the Capitol.

"Peeta's with Johanna," she tells me. "You were right; she does need people around her. The kids love her already." She turns to me, giving me a genuine smile that even the burns on her face cannot dim.

"Will you move to her?" I ask.

"No," Katniss says. "I think she will come to us." She smiles at me. "As much as I am grateful for you giving me my freedom, District 12 is my home and I cannot leave it. It's part of who I am."

"I knew you would say that," I say. "What about your mother?" I ask.

Over the past few weeks, when Nurse Everdeen wasn't fussing over me, she had been reconciling with her daughter. I knew things were going to be difficult between the two of them but from what I had heard, things were going well.

"I have spoken to her," Katniss tells me slowly. "But she cannot live in District 12 as much as I cannot leave it," she says. I nod understandingly, aware I still have Madison under my arm. "But I'd like to think we shall talk a lot more now."

She surprises me by giving me a hug. At that moment she is the most vulnerable I have ever seen her and I hug her back. "Would you join us for dinner?" I ask. "Before you go back?"

"We would love to," Katniss smiles. "And congratulations to the both of you," she directs it at both Madison and me. Madison beams, rubbing her bump again.

Katniss leaves us in peace and I put my arm around Madison's back as we look out onto the city skyline. Tall buildings stick out in shapes that remind me horribly of gravestones, the sun casts an orange glow onto the landscape. Below us people walk to and from their places; home from the speech, home from work, meeting up with people. Friends stop and talk, strangers give courteous nods and smiles.

And, for the first time in so long, it all seems so wonderful.

Madison leans into me. "We're going to be okay, aren't we?" she says.

"Yes, we are," I tell her before leading her away from the Office and to our room.

The scars along our torsos are permanent reminders of the lashes we received. Madison tries not to let me know how much they affect her by looking straight into my eyes as we lay down on the bed. I kiss every one of them, letting her know how much I love her despite the grotesque patterns. They are beautiful because they are a part of her; many marks to show how far she has come and how much she has suffered.

Suddenly she starts laughing; an unexpected sound that is music to my ears.

"What?" I ask, kissing my way up her neck. Though I'm happy she is happy, a part of me is still uncomfortable that she's laughing in such a situation.

"I was just thinking," she smiles, "About when I was younger. If somebody had told my fifteen-year-old self I was going to marry Fin Odair I would have probably thrown up in excitement."

I laugh too. "Really?" I say. "But you didn't even know me then. Is that all I am to you? A celebrity mascot? A representative on the TV?"

She hits me playfully. "Stop reading too deeply into things," she scolds. "You're so much more than a representative or a mascot. You know that."

I do now. Now that Madison has helped me to see it.

(*)

The day before the Mellark family depart with Johanna we have dinner as planned. Nurse Everdeen is with us though she's going to stay in the Capitol from now on and working at the Hospital. She sits next to Katniss but she does so comfortably as though everything is okay rather than she is trying to prove a point to me.

"Fin," Rosie runs up to me, jumping up and down excitedly. "Can I sit next to you?"

I laugh. "Of course you can," I say. I end up sitting with Martox and Rosie on either side of me. Madison sits with her mother and her brothers, Tyke and Miko who are just a few years older than Rosie.

"We saw Juppy Kit today," Rosie tells me, beaming. "He says to tell you that you're a 'good lad' and he gave us a free newspaper." She looks so pleased with the freebie it's comical.

I laugh again and make a mental note to pay Juppy for that newspaper later on.

The dinner passes easily. We talk about us, about silly stories and things we've done, and put politics to bed for the night.

"Did your mother ever tell you how your parents met, Fin?" Katniss asks as we dig into desserts. I freeze for a moment before relaxing my muscles immediately so as not to bring a bad atmosphere to the table.

"No," I answer steadily. "Why, did she ever tell you?"

She nods. "Finnick told me she crept up on him and, when I visited you when you were a baby, she told me what he meant by that. Would you like to know?"

I nod, leaning in slightly. I can feel Madison listening too. I remember her telling me how her parents met and how I was upset I couldn't reciprocate. It feels like years ago now.

"It was just before they went into the arena," Katniss says. "Finnick was looking over some papers on which he'd written some good survival tactics." She smiles. "Annie jumped on his back and scared the hell out of him. He ended up flipping her one the floor." We all a laugh a little because Katniss does but there is a sense of unease in the room. For some reason it's odd to relive a memory belonging to two people who are no longer with us. "She told me that she smiled up at him and told him not to give up on her. Apparently, him and Mags were focusing more on the boy tribute than her."

"Survival of the fittest," I mumble.

"Exactly," Katniss smiles. "I think Finnick realized that she was just a young girl who needed protecting, especially after she lost her mind in the arena."

"She needed him to keep her sane," I pieced together, "And he needed her to need him for reasons other than his looks."

Knowing this information about my parents makes me smile. I feel as though I am closer to them.

"Thank you," I say to Katniss.

She smiles back. "Can I have a word outside?"

We leave the table and head out the room. Everyone is silent apart from Johanna who is telling the four children all about her cats at home, oblivious to everything around her.

Once we are far enough down the hall that nobody from the dining room can hear us, Katniss turns to face me. Her eyes are full of shame.

"I voted for that last Hunger Game," Katniss confides in me quickly. "I made Aberdeen what she was and that means Gale's death and all those others are all my fault." I know by 'the others' she is referring to my mother but I can't find it in me to blame her.

"No they're not," I disagree quickly. "You weren't to know what they would lead to. You were confused from after the war and you wanted revenge. It's understandable."

"I hope one day I can believe that," she tells me, sighing. "But I can't help but look back on everything and think how I could have done things differently."

"There's no point looking back," I tell her. "If I'd not walked in on Plutarch murdering Paylor then Gale would still be alive. If I'd run from the beach screaming for help instead of just standing there then maybe my mother would still be here too." I blink furiously, angry with myself that I've let on to Katniss that I've thought about this just as much as her. "But there's nothing I can do now," I tell her.

"Except rule the country well," Katniss points out smiling. "And raise your child well. You'll be a wonderful father and husband, Fin."

"If I have the time," I say, thinking of all the time I will have to give up now I am the leader of Panem.

"You will make time," Katniss says, not as an order but as if she knows I will look after both my child and my future wife well.

"What did my mother say?" I ask suddenly. "About the Games?" I regret bringing them up when I see Katniss' face fall but I can't help it. I need to know. If I don't then it will be just another unanswered question that will haunt me and give me many sleepless nights.

"She said 'no'," Katniss says confidently. "As did Peeta and as would your father if he had been there – at least that's what Annie said. And she knew him best."

She smiles sadly at me before walking back to the dining room. It's as if, now she has had my forgiveness, she can finally enjoy the rest of the dinner in peace. I follow her but she pauses before we can enter through the grand double doors.

"Oh, and Fin?" She turns, looking me straight in the eyes.

"Yes?"

"Annie and Finnick would be proud of you."


	19. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **The Hunger Games and its characters are all property of Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this piece of work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Epilogue

It's been two years now since I enforced a law that would make the Hunger Games impossible to bring back. Aid has been sent to the Tribes and their lifestyles are being taught in schools so everybody will have an understanding that we are not the last people left in the world.

Madison is now my wife. Belle and her two sons now live in the Capitol to be near us. Belle says she would rather live in the Capitol than in District 2 where she was brought up. She says there is less of a chance of Tyke and Miko signing up for the military. Madison still goes out to the Tribes as part of the military but she spends a lot of time with our child now.

Sometimes I regret my decision. Such as when I am forced to turn more immigrants away from Panem's bulging borders, and when I see starvation in the Tribes on the television. But I won't back down now. We will help them, slowly but surely.

Nurse Everdeen now works in the Capitol and is highly respected in the medical profession just as she has always wanted to be.

But there are times when I am glad I am where I am now. Such as when I see Juppy Kit selling his newspapers on that same stand and he gives me a respectable nod. He said he thought I'd gone to the bad side but is pleased I corrected my ways by becoming President. He still refuses to charge me for a newspaper.

Even Darcy Williams has dropped by to congratulate me. I will never forget that conversation with her.

"Well, slap me silly!" she cried before pulling me into a bosom-smothering hug. "I really thought you'd gone to sleep with fishes, lamb!"

"It was all a lie from the Capitol," I told her, after getting my breath back.

"Aw, you poor, lamb," she cooed. "Well, you're all dandy now aren't you?" she asked, more positive. "President of Panem," she mused. "Well, ain't that grand! I hope you won't be forgetting me."

"I could never forget you, Darcy," I assured her.

"Well, that's good because I won't go forgetting you either," she beamed at me. "Now that you're the President and all that, do you reckon you could get me a pay rise?"

I laughed along with her even though I knew she was only half-joking.

Britney is a Government Official – the first one who had parents not from Panem. Her success is a sign for more good things to come. I have met her parents at last. They admire me for wanting to help the Tribes. They say what I am doing is a lot better than what the government before me did; just scrape them all up and bring them to Panem for a better life.

Britney's brother is a lot younger than I thought too. He's about the same age as Rosie, making me feel bad for ever being angry with him. I hope Plutarch didn't hurt him whilst he held him in captivity.

The Tribes are now rebuilding their lives more confidently. They're choosing their own names, trying to get back to the place they were at before all was lost. If Panem could do it then they too can crawl back from the ashes.

As I said in my first speech as President, we cannot afford to be independent and selfish anymore. I notice this every time I pick up and look into my daughter, Anna Belle Odair's sea-green eyes. She is not a child of one country, but of the world as a whole.


End file.
